Word of the Day
by Ninja Goldfish
Summary: A series of one-shots based upon the word of the day. Rating for a reason. Lemons ahead.
1. Chapter 1

Word of the Day

This will be a series of one-shots based around Dictionary's word of the day. Obviously I probably won't do one every day due to having a real life. Will be marked permanently as complete, though there will be periodic updates as I write more shots. I typically write Severus/Hermione pairing but there may be a few others scattered throughout. Only time will tell. There WILL be lemons and extremely M rated material so please, if you're under the age of 18, keep out.

Anything you recognize belongs to JKR, whom we all love and adore.

Without further ado, please enjoy yourselves.


	2. Myrmidon

Myrmidon

MUR-mi-don, -dn | noun

1: a person who executes without question or scruples a master's commands.

"On your knees," he drawled lazily.

She felt a twisting deep in her belly as she obeyed. "Yes, master."

He stepped around her body, circling her. "What a very good, _obedient_ servant you are." Her hands quivered, but she said nothing. "Should I reward you? Hmm?"

She bit her lip and nodded. He stopped his prowling and instead came to a stop in front of her. His hands went to his belt, unbuckling it slowly. She watched his fingers working on the clasp and felt a dampness between her legs. Glancing up at his face, she saw him staring down hungrily at her. She licked her lips involuntarily and he smiled at her – a twisted kind of smile that spoke volumes about the events to come. She shivered at the sight of it.

He pulled his belt from the loops of his trousers and tossed it onto the floor beside him. She watched it fall, eyeing it where it lay. She wondered idly if he would be using it again tonight. When her gaze returned to him, he had the fly of his trousers open and was shoving them downward. His erection greeted her, still concealed in his pants, right at the level of her nose. He paused there, ordering her with his eyes. She knew what he wanted. Without hesitation, she brought one hand up to stroke him through the fabric. He choked out a groan, pressing himself into her hand. She smiled crookedly and pressed her mouth to the last layer of clothing, blowing a stream of hot air. He growled and pulled her roughly back by her hair. She whimpered as her head was pulled back, her throat open and exposed to him. With his other hand, he slid his pants down his legs toward the floor. He released her hair and she met his dark gaze before sliding her eyes down to his now exposed member.

"What would you like me to do, master?" she asked, her voice low and rough.

"Open your mouth," he instructed.

She licked her lips slowly and did as she was told. He grasped her hair with both hands before sliding his cock between her parted lips.

"Fuck," he muttered. Gods, her mouth was perfect. Hot, wet, and attached to those dark brown eyes looking up at him. He slid in as far as he could without choking her and then pulled himself almost completely out. He could feel her nearly panting and it felt glorious against his cock. "Do you want more?" Her eyes fluttered shut and she moaned, her mouth full of him. Gritting his teeth, he picked up his pace, practically fucking her face.

On her knees, she was uncomfortable. Her core was throbbing with desire and she would without a doubt have to change her knickers before dinner. With a soft _pop_ , he pulled his cock from her mouth and pulled back, panting. Much longer, she knew, and he would have come all over the back of her throat. While she did not find the thought repulsive, she would have pouted severely at him for spoiling the fun so quickly.

"Strip," he commanded.

She quickly pulled her t-shirt over her head and fumbled with her bra. Scrambling to her feet, she undid the clasp on her jeans and shoved them down her legs, followed shortly by her soaking knickers. When she stood naked in front of him, she was rewarded with a smirk.

"My, my, so… eager," he rumbled.

"Yes, master," she gasped as his hand trailed up her side.

His hands went to the buttons of his own shirt, which he had failed to remove earlier. "On the bed. Face down."

She moved wordlessly to obey him, muscles quivering in anticipation of whatever came next. She heard the jingling of his belt and felt a thrill of desire roar through her just moments before she felt it slap down across her ass. Her yelp quickly turned into a moan as his tongue followed the track his belt had just made. He grabbed her cheek roughly, squeezing it with a groan before letting go and spanking her again. She writhed on the bed, reveling in the heady mixture of pleasure and pain. Again, his tongue soothed her agitated skin, followed by another lick of the belt. He continued until she thought she might explode right there from the sheer tension he was building in her.

"Turn over and spread your legs," he growled.

Quickly, she moved to obey him. "Please, master," she mewled wantonly. She was dripping all over the sheets and she ached for him.

He crawled onto the bed, positioning himself between her legs. Grabbing her thighs, he pulled her body roughly to him. "Please what?"

"Fuck me, please!" she moaned.

"Oh, you want my cock buried deep inside you?" he crooned, running his hand up her thigh.

"Yessss," she whimpered.

He leaned forward, his tongue flashing out to lick her bottom lip, and pushed himself inside her tight heat. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, master, gods, yes."

He smiled down at her while one hand reached down to grasp her ankle. He pulled it over his shoulder and pushed himself deeper, eliciting a moan of pleasure from her. He pulled himself almost completely from her body before sliding slowly back inside. "I'm going to continue this way for three minutes exactly. I expect you to do whatever you need to come all over my cock in that time or there will be… consequences." He waved his hand and a count-down began in the air above her.

She moaned as a thrill shot through her at the command. One hand traveled south to the little nub between her spread open legs and began rubbing almost frantically while the other snuck upward to one breast. The heat in his eyes intensified at the sight of her touching herself so flagrantly beneath him. She felt his cock twitch in response to the sight and hissed out a moan between her teeth. Her ministrations continued.

She had thirty seconds to go and she could feel herself getting close to orgasm but she just wasn't… quite… there… His dark eyes glittered and she shivered under their watch. Ten. She pulled desperately on her nipple and felt the answering pulse in her pussy but it – nine – didn't quite get her there. Eight. His hand trailed lightly down the outside of her thigh. Seven. She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. Six. Five. Four. She was so damn _close_ but she knew she wouldn't – three – make it. Two. One.

He squeezed his hand shut at the counter and it vanished. "Well, I suppose I have to punish you now." He pulled his cock from inside her and flipped her over in one fluid movement. Pulling her up onto her knees, he slid back into her from behind, ramming his hard cock into her in one motion. She cried out in pleasure at the feeling of the deeper penetration. He grabbed her hair in one hand and shoved her face into the mattress. "You were disobedient," he growled.

"Yes, master," she agreed.

A gasp tore from her lips as his hand left a stinging mark across her ass and she felt a corresponding lurch deep inside her. He bit his lip as she twitched around his cock. _Fuck_ he loved that she loved this. "You may attempt to make yourself come but I am going to fuck you hard like an animal. I tried to be generous but… you disobeyed me." He punctuated his point with another hard slap across her ass.

Without further explanation, he pulled her hair hard in one hand and grabbed hold of her hip with the other, plowing mercilessly into her soft, yielding flesh. He could feel that her hand had returned to her clit but, true to his word, he didn't slow his pace. He could feel his own orgasm rushing toward him and he licked his lips in anticipation. Moments before his release, he heard her gasp and felt her muscles clench down on his cock. His name fell from her lips in a whimper, turning into a moan halfway out. He rode her orgasm through to his own and spilled himself into her heat, hips twitching as it died.

They stayed still like that, panting, while they each came down from the high. Finally, he pulled out of her and collapsed on his back beside her. She followed him down, burrowing her face against his shoulder. He looked down at her and reached for her chin, tilting it up to plant a gentle kiss against her lips.

"I love you, Hermione," he murmured.

"Mmm," she hummed. "I love you, too, Severus."


	3. Willowwacks

Willowwacks

WIL-oh-waks | noun

1: a wooded, uninhabited area

The forest was watching her. She could feel the eyes on her but no matter how quickly she whipped around, she could never quite manage to catch sight of them. Wind rustled through the trees, making them creak ominously.

"Who's there?" she called out. Her words echoed oddly around her, not at all how it should sound in a forest. The echo was more reminiscent of a cave – a vast, empty cavern. But how could that be? She was clearly in a wood. She reached out to touch the tree in front of her. It was solid enough, but the texture was off. It felt springy. Her hand sunk into the tree slightly, leaving an imprint that slowly filled back in when her hand was removed. Her brow furrowed in confusion. _The fuck…?_

To her left, a shadow moved in the dark. She whipped around toward it, eyes scanning her surroundings desperately. "Show yourself," she growled to the shadow. She couldn't see it but she knew it was there, watching her.

"Certainly." The voice was a deep baritone, one that was familiar to her. It came from behind her. She whirled on the spot, eyes searching the darkness.

"Professor?"

"Up here, Miss Granger," he drawled.

Her gaze was drawn upward as instructed and finally rested on his form. He was perched casually on a branch in the tree, maybe five meters up. He rested his back against the trunk and seemed perfectly at ease. One leg stretched out in front of him across the branch while the other dangled off the side, swinging lazily through the air. A smirk spread across his face at the sight of her gawking and she was struck by how distinctly _feline_ he looked just there.

"What are you doing up there?"

"What are you doing down there?" he countered fluidly. A flicker of mischief gleamed in his eyes, which, if Hermione was not mistaken, held just a hint of a dark green shine in the darkness.

She pursed her lips. "Now, really. What the hell is going on?" She waved her hand at the forest at large, glancing around. "Where am-" Her gaze returned to the tree, where he was no longer to be found. "-I?"

"Where do you think you are?" came his voice from behind her. She jumped as his breath tickled across the skin of her neck. Her eyes widened when his arms came around her from behind, cradling her back against his chest.

"I – I really don't know," she said breathlessly. "Clearly not anywhere sane."

He huffed a soft laugh into her ear and she could feel a rumbling in his chest that she could have sworn was _purring_ if she did not obviously know better. Men did not _purr_. "And why not?" he inquired, laughter in his voice.

"Well," she started. Her mouth dropped open in shock as he _licked_ her neck. Her knees went weak and she took a moment to allow her racing heart to settle. "Well, for one, _that_. You're Professor Snape… and yet you obviously aren't."

"Am I not?" he rumbled, burying his face into the crook of her neck.

"No," she whispered.

"What else?" he murmured against her skin.

"The trees…" She was having a remarkably difficult time focusing on why this was all very strange with him rubbing his face against her like that. She swallowed. "The trees aren't right."

He licked her skin once more and his warmth vanished from behind her at the same moment as his arms disappeared from around her. She whirled around wildly, trying to find where he had gone. She caught sight of his teeth first, his wide mouthed, uncharacteristically Snape grin exposing them. He stood beside a tree to her right, one hand resting on its trunk.

"Are you sure you aren't thinking of the wrong trees?" he asked lightly as he walked up the trunk.

She gawked, mouth hanging open, as he walked up the tree, his body parallel with the ground, as though he defied the laws of gravity every day. "I must be mad," she muttered to herself.

He stretched out onto a low branch on his stomach, head hanging down while his feet twirled in the air. "My dear Miss Granger," he said, and this time she could _hear_ the purr, "we're all mad here."

She sat straight up in bed, nearly giving herself a concussion on the bunk above her. Her breath was coming in gasps and she stared around herself wildly. Ginny's room. The Burrow. Christmas holidays, of course. She slumped back down onto the mattress. Just a dream then. She sighed and vowed never to look Professor Snape in the eye again.

Many miles off, Severus Snape was brewing himself a pot of tea and trying to get the utterly bizarre dream he'd just had out of his head. It was only a dream but Merlin, her skin had tasted _good_.

 **A/N: Ten points if you can tell me who he is?**


	4. Crambo

Crambo

KRAM-boh | noun

1: an inferior rhyme

2: a game in which one person or side must find a rhyme to a word or line of verse given by another

"Hermione, do we have to get Snape something for Christmas?" asked Harry conversationally over soup.

She drew her eyebrows together. "That's a bit of a last minute question, Harry," she chided. "Christmas is next week."

He shrugged. "Well, yeah, but at least I asked at all. It's not really something I'm used to."

"It's not really something I'll ever be used to," Ron muttered sulkily from the other side of the table.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You don't _have_ to, Harry, but I've gotten presents for each of your wives so it might be a bit rude of you not to get him anything. He is my husband, after all. You could try to be nice."

"Yeah, you're probably right." He fell silent, sipping his soup.

Hermione looked idly around the little restaurant. It was busy enough today, but not overcrowded, for which she was grateful. The news of her wedding had made headlines last month and she still had people approach her on occasion to ask her about it as if it were their business. No, she wasn't cursed, no, she wasn't blackmailed, no, she wasn't pregnant. Really, why did two people ever get married? Why, yes, Severus Snape _is_ capable of feeling love, thank you very much.

"What are you getting him, then?" asked Ron.

"A cat," she said simply.

Harry nearly spit his soup. "Like the animal?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, like the animal. Really, Harry, what other kind is there?"

"Isn't that a bit… I mean, you know what they said…?" He looked between Ron and Hermione, who were both staring at him blankly and shook his head. "Whatever, you know him best."

"You could get him items to go with it. You know, care supplies," she suggested.

"Er… What do you even get one of those?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"I suppose I'll get some treats for it," Ron supplied.

Harry looked back to Hermione, lost. She rolled her eyes. "It'll need somewhere to sleep. Why don't you get that?"

"Okayyy," he drew out the syllable, still lost, but he supposed he could ask at the pet shop. They should know.

oOo

It had been a struggle but she had managed to convince Severus to spend their first Christmas as a married couple with the Weasleys. An hour before they were due to leave for dinner, she pulled him into their bedroom.

His dark eyes glittered down at her. "It might be a stretch, but I'm okay with being late," he drawled.

She smirked and slapped his hands lightly as they reached for her. "I'm giving you your present. I didn't think you'd want to open it in front of everyone." She presented him with a large box tied up with a red bow.

He took the box from her and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Hermione bounced on the balls of her feet excitedly as he pulled the ribbon loose and lifted the lid. The kitten inside, curled up on the towel she had lined the box with, glared up at him with a gaze that clearly said, "I'm sleeping, piss off."

Severus laughed softly and ignored the glare to lift the small black animal out of the box, cradling him in his large hands. The kitten gave up his indignance quickly when the tender spot behind his left ear was scratched.

"Do you like him?" she asked nervously.

"He's perfect," he confirmed. "How ever did you find my feline double?"

She smirked again. "He was the one in the corner glaring at the smaller kittens."

"Of course. I'll have to find a suitable name for the little thing."

oOo

Dinner with the Weasleys went remarkably well. While there were more than a few nervous glances cast in Severus's direction, he was on his best behavior and Hermione was looking forward to getting home so that she could reward him properly. But first, gifts needed to be exchanged.

From Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Severus received a Slytherin green hand-knitted sweater with a large S in the middle of the chest. After exchanging an amused glance with Hermione, he thanked Mrs. Weasley politely and pulled it over his head, much to the surprise of most of the assembled party. Ron handed him a small package next. After careful unwrapping, it was discovered to be a small tub of something called Yogies – cheese flavored. _What an odd gift._

"From Scarlet and me. Scabbers loved them," he said sheepishly. "Y'know, before he turned into a person."

Severus didn't look capable of saying anything so Hermione answered, "Er, thanks Ron."

He blushed and nodded. His wife beamed at them obliviously.

"I'll go next," Harry announced. "Mine's a bit bulky, though." He gestured to an oddly wrapped object standing behind the couch.

Severus stood from the loveseat and walked slowly to the badly wrapped gift. He started unwrapping from the top, revealing what appeared to be a perch. His eyebrows knit together and he turned to Hermione for cues.

Hermione, for her part, was utterly bewildered. "Harry, how on Earth is this a place for a cat to sleep?"

He paled. "A c… a _cat_! Merlin, I thought you said you were getting him a _bat_ for Christmas."

Ron, for his part was bright red. "I heard rat…" he admitted.

Hermione couldn't help it. She laughed. "No wonder you were so confused, Harry." She turned and eyed Severus standing next to the gift. "I suppose we could use it for your owl."

"It is nice," he agreed, running a hand along the natural branch perch. "I'm sure that Athena would enjoy it."

"Next time, I'll get it in bloody writing," Ron muttered.


	5. Laterigrade

Laterigrade

LAT-er-i-greyd | adjective

1: having a sideways manner of moving, as a crab

"Miss Granger," he announced, popping his head into her private research laboratory, "tomorrow the Moly flowers will be blooming in the Insh marshes. As my apprentice, you will accompany me to harvest them."

She nodded. "Of course, sir, I look forward to it." She had, of course, known that the flowers should be ready for harvest soon but had been waiting for him to say something about it.

"We will meet at noon in the Great Hall then."

oOo

Hermione slogged quietly through the marshes behind her master. Upon their arrival in the marsh he had wordlessly handed her a pair of galoshes, which she had donned without comment while he did the same. The wet ground sucked at the soles of her footwear with every step, making a loud _shlorp_ at every footfall.

"Would you _be quiet_?" Professor Snape groused.

"I'm trying," she answered shortly. "How exactly am I supposed to keep my shoes from sticking? Anyway, it's not like the flowers are going to run away, is it?"

He rolled his eyes at his apprentice. "It's not the flowers I'm concerned about."

"He's quite right, you know," piped a tiny, squeaking voice. "It's dangerous out here."

Hermione's eyes roamed around the flat lands around them, searching for the source of the words. A step backward was met with a loud _crunch_.

"Ack!" squealed the voice. "You've killed me!"

She and the professor stared down at the shattered form of a small crayfish beneath her shoe. Before either of them had a moment to react, a shriek filled the air. Severus whirled around toward the sound and was greeted by the sight of what he had taken to be a large grey rock rising from the water.

"Oh, shit," he hissed. The rock had taken shape before them, its large stalk eyes locking in on them. The crab opened its maw and screamed its anger at what, they could assume, was the death of the talking crayfish. Had he been any other man, the sight of a giant, four-meter-tall crab menacingly waving its giant, two-meter-long claw – the claw alone was longer than he was tall – at them may have resulted in the loosing of his bladder but Severus Snape was not any other man.

"Holy mother of god," Hermione whispered, remaining where she was behind him. "What do we do?"

A good question. He was reasonably certain the thing would not understand their words to be reasoned with, which left fight or flight. They probably wouldn't be able to outrun it. Apparition, maybe, but dammit, he _needed_ those flowers. It was the only day they would bloom until next August. "Blow it up," he said hesitantly, hating the way it came out almost as a question.

" _Reducto_!" she shouted. A blast of blue light flew past him and hit the crab squarely in the chest. Really, it just seemed to piss the thing off further. With a roar it was scuttling in their direction, moving sideways out of the water and onto the land toward them.

" _Expulso_!" Severus aimed at one of its eight legs and was rewarded when a chunk of the appendage blasted off, resulting in a spray of bright blue blood. With what almost sounded like a growl, the crab shuddered and the injured limb dropped to the ground.

Hermione followed suit, blasting off another of the creature's limbs. Seeming to understand what they were doing, the creature roared again and charged. They dove to either side, Severus getting a mouthful of marsh grass before scrambling to his feet and beginning to run. As the thing's giant claw closed around him and he felt the ground falling away, Severus realized how right he had been about being unable to outrun it. And it was running minus two legs. He struggled – in vain, he knew, but what good would he be if he didn't try – to free his wand arm from where it was pinned by his side.

"Granger!" he yelled. " _Hermione!_ " If she didn't make puffs out of the damn monster soon, he'd end up as crustacean chow. What an exceptionally unfortunate way to greet your death. If the giant snake hadn't killed him, he would be _very_ upset if this thing did.

She pulled up short and turned back. Snape was squirming in the grip of the creature, dangling five meters off the ground. _I hope he's not afraid of heights_ , whispered a little voice in the back of her mind. " _Expulso!_ " she shouted again, aiming for the joint of the giant claw, then cushioned his sudden fall with, " _Molliare!_ " Missing its main weapon, the crab looked much less intimidating but she had no intention of underestimating it. It would be just her luck for it to pull another one out of its ass and come at them again. " _Avada kedavra!_ "

Severus's eyes snapped to the overgrown crab cake in time to see it sway slightly and worry that it might fall on _him_. Instead, it toppled backwards, hitting the ground with enough force to make the earth tremble. Birds screamed as they flew from their hiding places in the tall grasses. He felt like dust should have blown up from the carcass, but it was a marsh, he supposed. Everything was too wet for dust. As he turned his attention back to wiggling his way out of the claw that still gripped him, he heard her _laugh_.

After successfully separating himself from the appendage, he raised an eyebrow in her direction, suddenly concerned for her sanity. "I don't see what's funny," he said dryly. His heart was still pounding in his chest. The last thing he wanted to do was laugh about the whole thing. Perhaps after a stiff drink he might see the humor.

"You… you almost died by giant crab," she snickered.

"And you," he drawled, feeling a bit vindictive, "used an Unforgivable."

She sobered quickly. "I saved your _life_."

"That may be, but it's not what I said."

"I used it on a giant _crab_."

"Yes. But I'm pretty sure it's still Unforgivable."

Her face paled dangerously. "You wouldn't turn me in."

He smirked. "No. You did, after all, just save me from being eaten by a crab. I won't tell if you don't."

She huffed at him. "You're awful."

"I've been called worse," he agreed with a shrug. He dusted himself off. "Now, we have flowers to harvest."


	6. Juggernaut

Juggernaut

Juhg-er-nawt -not | noun

2: anything requiring blind devotion or cruel sacrifice

He certainly tried to block out the screaming. The Dark Lord had always had a fondness for the dramatic, however, and tonight's venue was acoustically perfect for the event. The girl's screams reverberated from every corner of the room and pierced his skull. He leaned against the wall at the back of the room, his face carefully blank as he watched the proceedings. Avery was an absolutely disgusting man. Supposing for a moment that forcing himself on a woman was not already the basest, most inhuman act imaginable, doing so in front of an audience was worse. He wondered in an abstract kind of way how the man even managed to get it up. An exhibitionist, perhaps.

He knew it was finished when the screaming lowered to a pained whimper. Avery must have either not broken much tonight or broken so much that the girl was no longer entirely mentally present. The man did like to play with his victims. He hoped the night would be a quick one. The Dark Lord did not seem to be in a particularly foul mood this evening so perhaps he would just put the poor girl out of her misery and be done with it.

"Severuss," called the Dark Lord quietly.

He pulled himself away from the wall and strode toward what had once been a man. He was careful not to let his gaze stray to the girl next to him. "My lord," he murmured as he fell to his knees.

"Severus, it has been quite some time since you joined in our festivities."

He allowed himself a grimace beneath his mask while he stared at the floor from his knees. "Yes, my lord."

"I do not think this Mudblood has yet been taught her proper place. You will be next to… inform her."

His stomach contracted painfully, protesting the thought. He hesitated on the floor. "My lord, the girl is… distasteful to me." He injected his voice with a proper amount of disgust. "She is used goods, my lord."

His arms nearly buckled under the force of the _crucio_ that was cast in his direction. He clenched his jaw, refusing to make a sound. Rape was the lowest of the low. He would do it if the Dark Lord insisted, but he prayed that it would not be asked of him tonight. He would make any excuse he could. If it made the others think him pretentious, well frankly he didn't give a shit.

"So picky, Severus. You require a virgin then?"

He swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat and managed to bow his head further. "If I may, my lord." Anything to get out of this tonight.

The man laughed, a high, cold sound that echoed in the chamber. "Very well, then. We shall acquire one for you in the future. For now, there are other ways to teach a lesson. Rise, Severus, and do so."

He let out the breath he had been holding. Getting quickly to his feet, he pulled his wand from his pocket and turned to the girl on the floor beside him. He didn't know how much Avery had broken her physically, but the man had certainly broken her spirit. She lay on the floor in a puddle of her own blood, staring up blankly at the ceiling. She hadn't bothered to fix her skirt and Severus felt a bubble of anger in his chest.

" _Crucio_ ," he intoned calmly, feeling his insides twist when the screaming started up again. He let her stay under the curse longer than he normally would, hoping that her mind would abandon her. She would never survive the night. The least he could do was to attempt to make the essence of her absent for the torture. He was at least grateful that he didn't know the girl. She had been on holiday from Beauxbatons with her parents when she had been taken for tonight's entertainment. He had a sudden flash of himself holding Hermione Granger beneath his wand and felt the urge to be sick all over the floor. Granger would never allow herself to break under torture. She would be present and fighting until the moment he killed her.

When he broke the curse, she lay silent and panting. He stepped over her body and met her gaze, diving into her mind. The scene in her mind was a beach, the calm contrasting starkly against the turmoil outside. Waves broke gently on the sand, a serene sound. Some feet away was the girl, sitting quietly as she stared out to the sea.

"Are you still here?" he asked, almost gently.

She nodded. "I only feel the pain distantly though. I'm safe here." She turned to look at him in her mind and he was struck by the bright blue of her eyes. "I don't want to die."

"I can't save you." There was regret there. She would never have seen it if there was any chance that she could have lived.

"I know." She returned her gaze to the sea.

"I'll make it quick."

"Thank you."

He withdrew from her mind, knowing that only a fraction of a second had passed outside the sanctuary of her mind. " _Avada kedavra_."

oOo

He had known that the Dark Lord would not be pleased that he had ended the fun so quickly, but even as his limbs trembled from the after effects of the cruciatus he could not bring himself to regret ending it for her. He made his way silently through the doorway into the entryway of the castle and turned to descend into the blessed darkness of his dungeon.

"Professor?"

He sighed, knowing exactly who the voice belonged to. He paused but did not turn. "What, Granger?"

"Are you alright?"

He did turn his head then, taking in the sight of her. She was staring at the mask he held in his hand and he cursed himself for not shrinking the thing down into his pocket before entering the castle. He hesitated before answering. He found that tonight he had no desire to lie to her, belittle her, or deceive her. "I have had better nights, Miss Granger, but rest assured that I will survive."

She bit her lip, meeting his eyes. "I know it isn't my place, but… what happened, sir? You look out of sorts…"

He could never tell her what he had done that night. "Return to your dormitory," he said instead. "It's curfew soon." Looking into her face, he once again saw her on that floor instead. A shiver passed through his body and he turned away quickly. "Good evening, Miss Granger." As he strode quickly away from her toward his own rooms he knew that a dreamless sleep potion would be required that night.


	7. Paralogize

Paralogize

Puh-RALuh-jayze | verb

1: to draw conclusions that do not follow logically from a given set of assumptions

"Customer for you!" Sanders called back from the front of the store.

Severus gritted his teeth and growled under his breath. The boy was new but he had _told_ him that dealing with customers was _his_ job so Severus didn't have to. It worked out better for everyone that way. He placed a stasis charm on his cauldron and moved out into the front of the shop. Sanders earned a deep glare before he turned to see what the boy had been incapable of dealing with.

"Oh, Hermione." His irritation evaporated rapidly at the sight of her smiling at him behind her hand.

She held out a covered dish to him. "I brought lasagna for you. It turned out really well, I thought."

He took the proffered food with a small upturning of his lips. "Thank you. I was just wondering what I would do for lunch today. Now I won't have to leave this batch of wolfsbane in the middle."

Smirking, she nodded. "I suspected you'd just go without." More than likely, she was right. She did know him, after all. "I also wanted to make sure we were still on for tonight."

He nodded. "Of course. I look forward to it." His textbook had finally made it through editing and was being printed as they spoke. She had, of course, insisted that she come over and cook him a celebratory dinner. Sighing, he glanced back toward his lab. "I should get back to it. Thanks again for the lunch."

"You'd better get working if you want to beat me home tonight," she said teasingly. "I'll see you later."

She ran a hand down his arm in farewell, her fingers just brushing his lightly. His stomach twisted pleasantly and it was all he could do not to take hold of her hand and pull her against him right there in the shop. Later, he told himself. They weren't quite to that point yet. She was his friend. He had made it clear, he thought, that he hoped they could become more and tonight he intended to speak with her about it.

As he sat down at his work station, he heard the conversation drifting in from the front.

"I actually need some ingredients as well while I'm here," Hermione's voice said.

"Anything for you," Sanders answered in a tone that made Severus bristle.

Hermione seemed to ignore him and he couldn't make anything out until she had gathered her ingredients and moved once again to the counter.

"That'll be one galleon even." He heard the coin hit the countertop and Sanders continued, "I'll gladly accept a date as a tip for excellent service."

Severus's heart skipped and before he realized he had even gotten to his feet, had moved into the doorway of his lab in order to better listen in.

Hermione laughed. "Sorry, but I've already got myself a fellow."

His stomach squeezed tightly and he suddenly felt short of breath. How could she have a fellow without him knowing? How could she not have _told_ him? Had she been leading him on? Was he not clear enough about his intent? He swallowed hard and moved away from the door, closing it tightly and warding it. He needed to finish the wolfsbane and then he could stew on it.

oOo

She was in the kitchen when he got out of the shower. He sighed, knowing that even if she was taken he wouldn't ask for his key back. His wet hair dripped onto his t-shirt as he padded down the stairs toward the kitchen.

She turned toward him when she heard his footsteps and smiled brightly. "How was your day?"

"I finished my batch of wolfsbane without incident." He tried to ignore the fluttering in his stomach at her smile. "The lasagna was greatly appreciated, and you're right – it did turn out quite well." He inhaled deeply, breathing in the aroma of whatever it was that she was cooking. "What are we having?"

"Carbonara," she answered mildly. She knew it was one of his favorites and tonight was about celebrating his accomplishment. Future generations to come would be learning from his book. He could shape young minds as he loved to do in a much more hands off way than physically commanding the classroom, which she was sure that the future generations would greatly appreciate.

"I heard you tell Sanders today that you have a fellow," he said lowly. It was all he could do to keep himself from blurting it out like a lovesick schoolboy. He had to know who it was that he had lost to.

She blushed. "I hope you don't mind. I can't believe he didn't realize, I mean-" She caught sight of his carefully schooled expression and cut herself off mid-sentence. "Do you mind?"

"I can't say that I'm thrilled," he replied. "I thought… Hermione, I thought that I had made my intentions clear to you."

She blinked once, twice. "Your intentions?"

He huffed out a breath. "Are you going to make me spell this out for you completely?"

"I've no idea what you're on about, Severus, so yes."

"The thought of you with some man makes me ill," he stated bluntly. "I realize that we are only friends and I have no claim over you, but I had hoped to remedy that. Tonight. Now I know that it's too late but I wish that you had told me before."

She bit her lip, understanding dawning on her. "Are you under the impression that I was talking about someone else?"

He stared at her. "Weren't you?"

She let out a short laugh. "Severus, no. I was talking about _you_. You're the fellow I've already got."

It was his turn to blink at her blankly. "Er… I am?"

"I can't come over there and prove it to you or the food will burn, but _yes_. You did make your intentions clear. I thought that I'd made mine clear as well, but obviously, I failed." She paused. "You were going to claim me tonight?"

He cleared his throat. "I had intended to try."

She smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Well then, by all means continue."


	8. Overwinter

Overwinter

oh-ver-WIN-ter | verb

1: to pass, spend, or survive the winter

 _It was over._

The day was bright, the sun shining down on him. In the park near Spinner's End children laughed loudly, tumbling over the playground equipment. He watched them absently from the wooden bench on which he was perched. For the first time in nearly his entire life, he had no pressing business. He had no job to attend to. He had no master to obey, no master to thwart. No enemy-allies to placate. He simply… sat. Outside, in the sunshine. His neck did not bother him, and he was pleased. No darkness tried to invade the moment. He did not break his gaze away from the playground as she sat down next to him.

"Miss Granger," he greeted amicably.

She smiled. "Professor. I'll admit I didn't expect to find you here."

"The day is lovely." He sat back, leaning against the back of the bench and stretching his legs out in front of him. His legs crossed leisurely at the ankles as he moved his eyes up to the blue sky. He wove his fingers together behind his neck. "Not a cloud in sight."

She merely hummed her agreement. She had heard rumors that the former spy was taking it easy, relaxing, and enjoying his life. Clearly they had not been exaggerated. Here was a completely different man from the one she had known in school. His eyes were closed when she glanced over at him.

Severus could admit that he had been hoping that she would come to check in on him at some point. Having nearly embraced death had done wonders for his ability to self-evaluate. He was intrigued by her. Lecherous old man or not, it was true. During his years in the classroom he had been forced by his position both as a spy and as her teacher to feign distaste for her but the truth was that she had grown into a remarkable woman. Her intelligence and self-assurance were unequaled. He would consider himself privileged if she would allow him to become acquainted with her as two people, rather than as student and teacher.

"Would you care for some tea, Miss Granger?" He opened his eyes then and turned to look at her for the first time that day. Her face was thinner than he remembered it, even after the trio had been on the run and on scarce rations, but the smile that lit her face at his inquiry pushed the thought to the back of his mind.

"Why, Professor Snape, are you inviting me over for tea?"

"I am," he said simply.

"I would love some tea." She was pleasantly surprised. She had not expected the rumors to be quite this true. This was scarcely the same person. Perhaps he would withdraw in the safety of his own home and she would be presented with the snarky, difficult man she had expected. He stood from the bench and she was struck suddenly by how tall he was. She had never noticed before. How had she not noticed? He was a full head taller than she. It also occurred to her with a jolt that he was not in black. He wore a light grey t-shirt with… blue jeans.

"Well are you coming?" he asked after a moment. She was staring at him, which he did not entirely mind, but he was beginning to wonder if she was broken.

She started. "Oh, yes, of course." She hastily stood from the bench and walked along beside him as he walked away from the park.

They walked in silence that neither of them tried to fill. He looked so different without his billowing black robes. She thought he almost looked young again – carefree. She glanced over at him again and caught him looking at her. He met her eyes and gave a small, impish smile. Suddenly she worried that she was underdressed. She blushed under his gaze and smoothed at her sundress. He stopped in front of a small white house, almost a cottage, with a cute little fence out front. Opening the gate, he stepped aside for her to enter the yard ahead of him and she felt the tingle of wards as she passed through them.

Inside the house, she was struck by how bright it was. Large, open rooms dominated the space with windows overlooking the yard. She could see an herb garden in one corner of the back yard through the windows. In another section, she identified several magical plants commonly used as potions ingredients. He allowed her to explore while he moved to the kitchen and put the kettle on.

"Professor," she said, moving into the kitchen after him.

"Severus, please," he interrupted. "I am no longer your professor."

She blushed but nodded. "Of course. Severus, your home is lovely. Judging by your garden I would guess that you have a lab somewhere?"

"Obviously," he drawled with a raised eyebrow. "Could I live without one?"

Her lips drew back in a delighted grin. He was _joking_ with her. "I would guess not."

"It's in the basement. I'll show you after tea if you'd like," he offered.

She nodded eagerly.

He pulled out a chair for himself at the small table and motioned for her to do the same. "Miss Granger-"

"Hermione," she said insistently.

His eyes were warm as he inclined his head once. "Hermione." He took a moment to savor the taste of it on his tongue. "How are you?"

She blinked twice, caught off guard by his seemingly sincere question. She hesitated. Societal norms dictated that she merely say that she was 'fine' or 'doing well,' but she didn't think that he wanted that sort of answer. She got the feeling that he really, genuinely wanted to know how she was doing. And if anyone would understand, it would be him. "I'm…" She swallowed, unsure how to proceed. "I'm not sleeping well," she admitted.

"Are you having nightmares?" he asked gently.

Mutely, she nodded. With dread, she felt tears start to prick at her eyes. She ground her teeth together and stared resolutely at the table.

"I can help you with that," he offered. "I, too, have experienced a share of survivor's guilt."

"It isn't fair," she whispered.

The kettle whistled loudly and she heard his chair scrape as he moved to fetch it. A cup was placed in front of her and she caught a whiff of the tea. The smell of it comforted her slightly and she breathed deeply. He offered her sugar quietly and she murmured her thanks.

They were silent for a moment, each stirring their drinks. He took a sip of his tea and sighed in pleasure before sitting forward and clasping his hands together on the table. "There is very little sense when it comes to the casualties of war. Quite frankly, it comes down to dumb luck. The long and short of it is that you were luckier than those who died. As was I." He stared intently at her until she met his gaze. "There is nothing that you could have done to save them."

"I feel like I should have died instead," she admitted. "It isn't logical, I know, but…" She trailed off, knowing that he would understand.

"There are those of us who would have felt that way had you been among the fallen," he said lightly. He took a sip of his tea.

Hermione bit her lip. "Would you have?"

He nodded. "I realize that you probably don't think much of me but I am grateful that you lived. And, Hermione, the best thing that you can do to honor those who fell is to live your life the best that you can. I fully believe that you will do them proud. It would be against your nature not to do so."

She lowered her gaze again to the table, inspecting the grain of the wood. "Thank you. I wish that I could have your positive outlook."

"I nearly was among the casualties," he informed her. "I only survived because of your quick thinking in the shack. It has taken months of solitude, freedom, and self-assessment for me to have gotten here."

"I've had as much time as you," she argued. "Why can't I just accept it and move on with my life?"

He shrugged. "Everyone moves at their own pace. There is no right or wrong way to grieve. There is no time frame for guilt."

"You should be a therapist," she said with a small smile. "You'd be good at it."

He answered with a laugh. "And have to talk to people all day? Merlin, the horror."

"You're talking to me just fine."

"Yes, but I actually like you." His voice was nonchalant, as though he had just made a comment on the weather.

She scoffed. "No you don't. You're just cheery today."

He turned serious eyes on her. "I do. Frankly, I always have. Think of the position I was in. How would it have looked if I had been seen to _like_ Harry Potter's muggleborn best friend?"

Her eyes widened. "I thought you hated me."

"You were meant to." He paused, taking another sip of his tea. "I would like, now that it's all over, to get to know you. I think that we could be friends."

He said it so calmly, as though he were talking about something so normal. "You do?"

With a small smile, he nodded. "Yes. I know that you must think of me as your imposing, git of an ex-professor so if you'd rather not, I understand."

"No!" she protested. When he raised an eyebrow at her, she blushed slightly. "I mean… I don't think of you that way. You were cruel, I'll admit, but you had to be to survive. I understand that. You are brave and intelligent and I would like to be your friend."

He sat back in his chair. "Excellent. Well, as your friend, I feel that I should inform you that your guilt is allowed, it is normal, and it is healthy. Neglecting yourself, however, is not. You're thinner than you were on the run," he murmured.

She looked down into her teacup. "I know."

"Stay for dinner."

"What?" she asked, eyes shooting up.

"Stay for dinner," he repeated. "I'll give you a head start at filling yourself back out."

She smiled softly. "I'd like that. Thank you."

"My pleasure." He bowed his head slightly before raising his cup and draining it.

His gaze wandered to the back yard outside the window. The sun continued to shine brightly. The grass was green and he could see the wind blowing gently through the trees. The long winter of his life was over. And he had survived.


	9. Latitudinarian

Latitudinarian

lat-i-tood-n-AIR-ee- _uh_ n | adjective

1: allowing or characterized by latitude in opinion or conduct

Hermione Granger was no coward. She had done things in her life that many witches and wizards could never claim in their wildest dreams. She'd broken into the most secure structure in wizarding Britain and ridden out on dragon-back. She'd gone to war and survived to tell the tale. Tonight she was terrified. She'd made up her mind. She wanted him. As though he had known she was thinking of him, the bell of the door chimed softly, admitting him into the little book shop. She looked up from the counter, her eyes drawn to his immediately. A nervous smile lit her face and it was returned with a small upturn of his lips.

She was dragged back to the first time she had seen him there in her shop.

 _The tinkling of the door chime pulled her attention briefly from her task shelving books at the back of the store. She couldn't see the customer, but she called out a greeting nonetheless. She hoped they wouldn't need help finding anything and that they would browse for a few minutes at least so that she could make it through this stack before needing to ring up the purchase. Not that she would complain about the steady stream of business she'd had that night, but she had been trying to get through this shelving for hours. It seemed that luck was on her side as she finally,_ finally _finished the last of the new acquisitions. Making her way to the register, she could just barely make out the form of a dark head of hair bowed over the back cover of a book. Satisfied that her customer was indeed browsing and not attempting to steal her stock, she pulled out her own book and began to read while she waited. One of the perks of owning a book store. No one found it odd that she read in her down time, even while on the job._

 _"Why, Miss Granger, what a shock it is to find you working in a book store," drawled his familiar voice dryly._

 _Her head whipped up as her book snapped shut. Despite her shock, she frowned down at it briefly. She'd probably just lost her place, dammit._

 _He looked good. The post-war life seemed to agree with him if the increased color of his skin and the cleanliness of his hair was anything to go by. He seemed a bit more filled out as well. Less pinched. "Actually, Professor, I own the book store," she corrected him calmly. She certainly sounded calmer than she felt. She hadn't seen Severus Snape since she'd helped Madam Pomfrey load him up on a stretcher six years ago. The sight of him sent her spinning into the past and she nearly thought she might snap out of a daydream to find herself in the dungeons, a cauldron bubbling in front of her._

 _A small smile – an actual smile! – crept onto his face. "It's a nice shop," he commented. He slid his book across the counter to her._

 _She read the title and smiled to herself. This year's_ Potions Almanac _, of course. If she remembered correctly, he had made a contribution or four to this edition. "A good choice," she complimented._

 _"I do find something quite exhilarating about finding my own words in print," he confided._

 _She smiled conspiratorially. "There is something to it, isn't there?"_

 _He raised an eyebrow. "And what, pray tell, have you been up to, Miss Granger, besides running this little shop here?"_

 _She bit her lip, typing the book's number into her computer – altered, of course, to withstand the magic it was occasionally subjected to – and added it into the transaction. "I may have done a bit of penning myself," she admitted._

 _He leaned casually against the counter. "Anything I might have heard of?"_

 _Hermione grinned. Unless he'd been living under a rock for the past six years, she doubted he'd have been able to avoid hearing of her work. Her latest novel had been on The Quibbler's best seller list for three months running. Under a pen name, of course. No one knew that Rita Nurmberger was secretly a bushy-haired bibliophile living in the heart of London. Shrugging, she answered, "Probably not."_

 _He tilted his head as though trying to puzzle her out, but respected her privacy. When prompted, he handed over the required amount of coin and accepted his change. The change rattled loudly when the coins hit the bottom of her tip jar – unconventional for a book shop, but he admired her gumption. She bagged his purchase and they exchanged generic farewells as he walked out the door._

She had been sure that the was last she would see of Severus Snape. And she had indeed lost her place in her book. Three days later he had returned.

 _"Miss Granger, I find myself in need of a few novels to see me through the week."_

 _She smiled wryly and asked what genre he was looking to find._

 _He leaned again against the countertop and asked, "What would you recommend? I'm sure you can find something I'll enjoy." His eyes were soft as he gazed at her and she was momentarily taken aback. Surely he wasn't flirting with her?_

 _She blushed and hurried to show him back to her fiction section. Her blush widened involuntarily as he gravitated to the section populated by Rita Nurmberger novels._

 _"I've heard good things about these books," he commented. "Thoughts?"_

 _"Oh, er, well they certainly do sell well," she agreed._

 _He pulled one from the shelf, examining the jacket. "Have you ready any of them?"_

 _She hesitated. "One or two."_

 _"No good?"_

 _She huffed defensively. "They're very good."_

 _He smirked in her direction. "They say that Rita Nurmberger is a pen name. No one but the publisher really knows who she is and he's not telling."_

 _She raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes, that's true."_

 _"Hopefully Mrs. Nurmberger is in a position to see the popularity of her book. It would be such a shame if she didn't fully realize how well-liked they are."_

 _He was_ teasing _her! She didn't know how he had found out but she rolled her eyes. "I'm sure she knows."_

 _"Mmm." He replaced her book on the shelf and asked again, "Suggestions?"_

He had bought five novels from her that day. To get him through the week, he said.

His presence came to be expected in her shop. If a few days passed without seeing him she began to get anxious. Slowly she came to realize that she fancied him, Merlin help her. He had mellowed in the years since the war and he was teasing and gentle with her. If she wasn't mistaken – and she didn't think that she was – he was flirting nearly every night he came in. Every once in a while, if he knew he wouldn't be in for a few days an owl would show up at her shop with a scrap of parchment requesting that he send her latest recommendation. One such message read, "Hermione, I know your appetite for books is insatiable. Send me something that shows just how insatiable you are."

Screwing up her courage, she had sauntered into the room in the back of her shop warded with an age line and picked out one of her favorite guilty pleasures. The front cover displayed a half-naked woman swooning into the arms of a partially transformed werewolf. It was a very unrealistic portrayal, but really, when was erotica realistic?

The smirk on his face when he had returned a few days later paired nicely with the glint she had seen distinctly in his eyes. She'd seen that look on old boyfriends. Never had she expected to see it on old professors. Not that he was _old_. Being a wizard, he was still in the prime of his life.

 _"I very much enjoyed the book you recommended last week," he drawled._

 _She was sure that her blush spread from the top of her head to the bottom of her toes, but she managed a small smile anyway. "I enjoyed it too."_

 _He handed over a galleon – almost double what the book was worth – and insisted she keep the change. "After all," he said, "you're the one doing the work picking out my books for me. What's next?"_

Tonight she had already picked out the next novel. _Pride and Prejudice_ was one of her favorites, and she felt that it suited the day. "Good evening, Severus," she greeted.

"Hermione," he answered. "What have you got for me today?"

She held up the book wordlessly and handed it over. She watched as his eyes scanned the back jacket.

"Excellent. You know, one day I would like to read the work of one Rita Nurmberger," he said teasingly.

Swallowing hard, she told him, "I've got a copy of her new manuscript if you'd like to read it."

The corners of his eyes crinkled. "I'd love to read it, Hermione."

"But," she continued, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat. "You'll have to come to my place to read it."

"Only as long as you're feeding me," he countered.

She licked her lips. "It's a date."

"Merlin, I hope so," he chuckled.

"Oh, thank god," she breathed in response, her shoulders sagging. "I wasn't sure if… if I was reading you right."

"When have you ever read anything incorrectly?" he joked. He touched her hand gently. "Hermione, I would like to date you if you are amenable."

She nodded. "Yes, please." Not that she would share with him, but she rather hoped their date would end similarly to the guilty pleasure she'd sent him weeks ago.


	10. Lacuna

Lacuna

luh- **kyoo** -nuh | noun

1: a gap or missing part, as in a manuscript, series, or logical argument; hiatus

"Severus!" came her voice from the fire. He could hear the panic in her voice and was on his feet in an instant, rushing up the stairs from his private laboratory in the basement without bothering with a stasis spell on his bubbling potion. Recently he had taken to warding the lab against her, as there was simply no other way to keep her out. The woman was bloody stubborn. At this late stage in her pregnancy, there was any number of ingredients down there that could send her into an early labor or cause harm to her or the baby but she had crossed her arms and declared that she'd simply avoid them. He, however, had no desire to risk an accident.

When she had first discovered the wards, her screeching could be heard from the back garden, which is where he had been at the time. Steeling himself from her anger, he had pulled her resistant body into his arms and firmly informed her that he simply cared for her and for their child too much to risk their health because she couldn't bloody well _relax_. She could _live_ there after the baby was born if she so desired, but until then, she wasn't to set foot in the basement. He had promised not to lay a finger on her projects other than to suspend them with a stasis charm. She had grumbled and complained loudly but her body had relaxed against him.

Now his body was gripped within the influence of the vast amounts of adrenaline that pumped through his veins as he took the stairs two at a time to his wife. "Hermione!" he shouted, though he knew she would be in the living room, where the main fireplace was located. Barreling through the doorway, he laid eyes on her standing alone in the living room, one hand laid absently on her large belly. She turned to him, eyes wide and horrified.

Crossing the room to her quickly, he demanded, "Is it time?"

She ignored him, her eyes staring into space, trancelike. "I… I was reading this book that I found in the library at the Ministry," she said softly.

He could detect the distress in her voice and lifted his hands to run them along her arms, waiting for her to continue. She had been researching an artifact for her job in the Department of Mysteries and he knew that what she had found thus far was, put lightly, dark. From what she had told him, the golden statue hailed from ancient America and its creation had involved blood magic and ritual sacrifice. She held up the book that he hadn't noticed she had clutched in her other hand. The title leaped out at him. _Weather Magicks of the Americas_.

"Are you ok?" he asked gently, his panic beginning to fade a little.

She shook her head agitatedly. Holding the book in front of her, she let it fall open to a section whose pages had obviously been ripped from the binding. "It's missing pages," she wailed as tears sprung to her eyes.

He tried to suppress the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Are they the pages you needed?"

Biting her lip, she shook her head slowly. "No, but-"

Severus pulled her back against his chest, lowering his face into the crook of her neck. "Hermione, you scared me." He sighed and raised his head again. He planted a kiss to the side of her head. "I'm sure you'll find out who so defiled the book and punish them accordingly."

She huffed indignantly. "Severus, it isn't funny. This is an important work and now it's missing a chunk of information and-"

"I didn't say it was funny," he agreed lightly. "I fully agree with your assessment that the defiling of a book – any book – is a travesty."

She made an impatient noise in her throat. "I'm ready for this thing to be _out_ of me already! I'm so emotional it's ridiculous."

"Any day now," he reminded her.

She turned in his arms and leaned forward to lay her head against his chest. "You know, there are things we could do to stimulate the process." Her hands trailed lightly down his back.

He chuckled lowly, knowing exactly what she was suggesting. "I am more than willing to help out a woman in need."

She went into labor later that same night.


	11. Imprimatur

Imprimatur

im-pri-MAH-ter | noun

1: sanction or approval; support

 _ **MARRIAGE LAW PASSES WIZENGAMOT**_

Severus Snape glared down at that morning's copy of The Prophet. Of all the most ridiculous things they could be concerned with at this moment. Some crackpot old woman claiming to be a seer had hinted at the possibility that magical births may be declining and the fools had jumped to the idiotic conclusion that the obvious solution was to force the wizarding population of Britain to marry and breed like Weasleys. His lip curled and he tossed the paper into the fire burning in his grate. Albus, of course, had known this was in the works. They had hoped that it would not pass, but, alas, it had. He knew what the plan was. His frown deepened. It was the safest and most logical conclusion, yes, but still. Merlin. Now he only waited for the summons that he knew were to come.

It was quite possibly the very first time he hoped for the burning on his arm to come sooner. He was a man of action. He disliked sitting around stewing on what was to come. The Dark Lord would approve of his proposal or he wouldn't. Either way, he doubted that he would get off easily this night. His stomach churned at the thought of what would follow if the Dark Lord approved but he pushed that aside for now. The law stated that all muggleborns must marry a witch or wizard of half-blood status or above. Purebloods may not enter-marry. Instead, they must find a suitable mate of half-blood status or below. He was sure that there would be an uproar in the Dark Lord's court tonight. Would the purebloods be ordered to follow the law or would the Dark Lord protect them from the consequences of disobeying? He would hazard a guess that it would be the latter, but the man was half mad at this point and there was no telling what tracks his thoughts would follow.

When the time came, he was already dressed in his robes, his mask in hand. Over the past few decades, should any of the students have bothered to explore the far western corner of the Hogwarts grounds, they may have been puzzled to discover the existence of a solitary fireplace standing alone amongst the trees. It was through this fireplace that Severus appeared and made his way to the front gate. Pressing a hand to his left forearm, he squeezed his eyes shut and disapparated.

He was mildly surprised upon his arrival to find that the scene was not one of chaos. Oh, he could feel the tension in the air palpably, but his fellow Death Eaters, it seemed, had sense enough to know that they risked punishment if they put up too much of a display. He settled himself toward the front of the mass of bodies. Ever one for dramatics, the Dark Lord was waiting for them all to arrive before he himself made his appearance. Idly, he wondered if she had been informed of the plan – if she knew what he was here doing tonight. He wouldn't put it past Albus to have told her of his whereabouts. Perhaps she was in his office right now. Albus also had a flair for the dramatic.

oOo

"I'm sorry, Headmaster, but… but did you just say that _Professor Snape_ is fighting for me?" She stared at the old wizard, her mouth ever so slightly ajar.

Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed I did, Miss Granger." He held up a hand to stop her as she leaned forward in her chair. "This law places you in great danger. What do you suppose Voldemort will do with an army of purebloods who now need to find muggleborn wives? Severus is willing to offer up himself to keep you safe. He is in the presence of Voldemort at this very moment offering just that."

She was going to throw up. She just knew it. Right here, in this office. She took deep breaths and squeezed her eyes shut. "Do you think that V-Voldemort will allow it?"

He considered the young woman sitting in front of him, trying to read her reaction. Was she repulsed by the idea of Severus or by marriage in general? Was she upset, shocked, or frightened? Without legilimancy, he wasn't entirely sure and he was not willing to invade her privacy over such a matter. "Severus is a very intelligent man and a highly capable spy. I believe that he will be able to sway Voldemort in the direction that he wishes."

"I'm his student," she murmured.

"If this marriage occurs, then you will be removed from his class. You will sit your potions NEWT early and there can be no cry of favoritism."

"I'll be ruining his life."

The old man's eyes softened. "Miss Granger, if Severus Snape truly thought that you would ruin his life, I don't believe that even I could persuade him to allow you into it. He is a demanding instructor but as a man he is caring and fiercely loyal. There is no other who can equal your intelligence," he said with a knowing smile.

Hermione bit her lip. "Wizarding marriages are for life," she said softly.

"Normally, yes," Dumbledore agreed. "However, I do believe that there will be allowances made when this law is overturned, should you desire it."

"Do you think that it will be overturned?"

He sighed. "Eventually. I do not believe that it will be reversed quickly. There will be much initial backlash now that there is a deadline in place. However, I think that it will likely be a number of years before they realize how foolish it is to force families who were forced together and would otherwise had not desired to do so, to produce and raise children."

Her stomach churned violently. They would have to have children. "And… he's alright with having children with me?"

"Severus is aware of that part of the law, yes."

Oh, Merlin.

oOo

The meeting had been incredibly long. He had been surprised when Hermione Granger's name had not once been brought up by anyone at all. Did the Dark Lord already have plans in place? His stomach twisted at the thought. He approached the throne at the front of the room.

"My Lord," he murmured, folding his body in a deep bow. He felt eyes all over the room turn to him.

"Severus," his red eyes acknowledged the man before him, "what can I do for you this evening?" His wand twirled between his fingers, simultaneously a sign of boredom and a threat.

He met the eyes of the Dark Lord willingly as a signal of trust. "I would like to ask your permission to petition for Hermione Granger." The mad man did not appreciate those who beat around the bush. Direct and to the point was best.

The wand stopped twirling as he raised himself from his throne. "Oh? And why should I let you have such a… valuable prize?"

"You wish her in your hands I presume, My Lord." He fell to his knees at the expected _crucio_. Direct did not mean pain free. His head bowed and he grit his teeth, refusing to make a sound. He was not weak.

"I have many loyal followers from which to choose, Severus."

He did not rise from his place on his knees. "Yes, My Lord. However, I alone find myself in a unique position of trust to her. She will come willingly to me."

The Dark Lord was silent for a moment as he considered this. "What does that old fool think of this?"

"Dumbledore approves, My Lord."

" _Dolohov_!"

The man stepped quickly from the crowd and fell to his knees at the feet of his master. "My Lord," he whispered.

"Severus wishes to rob you of your prize. What say you to that?"

Dolohov's head snapped up, eyes narrowed. "She is _mine_ , My Lord. I was promised." Severus did not flinch as the man's screams filled the air beside him.

"You do not question me," the Dark Lord hissed when silence fell again. "This will improve your standing with Dumbledore?"

"Yes, My Lord. With myself married to one of the Golden Trio, I will burrow deeper into their trust," Severus confirmed.

"Good." He resettled himself on his throne and crossed one leg over the other. "Marry your Mudblood, then."

He leaned forward to press his forehead to the floor in deference. "My Lord." A chill ran through him as he got to his feet and caught sight of Dolohov's expression. He would have to watch himself. He did not know what had caused the man's obsession with the girl, but he had made an enemy tonight.

oOo

Severus was unsurprised to find her waiting just inside the gates. He was, however, surprised by the squirm deep in his belly at the sight of her there, wringing her hands as he approached. His future bride. He passed her wordlessly, instead throwing a handful of floo powder onto the flames of the homeless fireplace and gesturing for her to go ahead of him. Stepping toward the fireplace, she threw him a questioning look.

"Severus's chambers," he announced and the flames roared for her. She blinked twice and stepped wordlessly into the fire. He followed closely behind. Stepping out of the fireplace into his living room, he found her looking around at his living quarters with unabashed curiosity. "I assume that Albus has spoken with you," he said without preamble. His fingers deftly undid the clasp on his Death Eater's robes and he draped them over a chair. The mask was set beside them. He caught her staring at them and she blushed.

"Yes, sir," she said softly.

He scoffed. "I beg of you, please do _not_ call me 'sir.'" With a sigh, he dropped onto the couch, gesturing for her to do the same. "Given the circumstances in which we find ourselves, I would find it appropriate for you to call me by my given name."

She blushed but nodded. "How…" She swallowed. "How did it go?"

"Not nearly as badly as I had anticipated," he answered honestly. "I was only on the receiving end of one _crucio_ this evening, rather than the three or four that I expected."

Hermione was horrified by the completely blasé way in which he spoke of being tortured. For _her_ benefit. She had no answer for that at all.

"Dolohov took the brunt of it." He noticed with curiosity the flinch she tried to suppress. Perhaps he could get more from her if he just… "Before tonight, you were promised to him."

Wide, terrified eyes met his. "But… I'm not anymore?"

Was she afraid of him or the alternative? "No."

She almost seemed to deflate sitting there on his couch. "Oh, thank Merlin. Thank _you_ ," she corrected herself.

"Why did he want you?" he asked bluntly.

"When we were at the Department of Mysteries, he attacked me. I don't know if that started his obsession with me or if it started before that, but it certainly didn't help. He… writes me sometimes." Severus felt his blood pressure spike at the tone she used. He could guess what kind of letters the bastard sent. "I guess if we're going to… if we're going to get married-" she looked to him for his reaction. He nodded gently. "-then you'll see it anyway." She lifted her shirt a bit and he caught a glimpse of an ugly, twisted scar running up the length of her belly. "I hope that doesn't…" She bit her lip, looking away. "I hope it doesn't change your mind about marrying me."

He really tried to stop himself. Truly, he did. He failed. He threw back his head and laughed. Without standing up from the couch, he brought his hands to the front of his button-down shirt and quickly undid the many clasps. Shrugging out of his shirt, he informed her, "It would be incredibly shallow of me to begrudge you your scars, given the number of mine."

Unconsciously, she leaned forward and reached out a hand. At the last moment she realized what she was doing and pulled her hand back. "Sorry," she murmured, blushing.

"Hermione," he said gently, and she started at the sound of her name on his lips, "we're getting married. While I do realize that our marriage is coming about as a result of a law that the both of us resent, we will have to become acquainted, mentally as well as physically. I cannot promise that we will find love. However, I can promise that I will do my best to make the experience a pleasant one for both of us. I have no desire to make you miserable, or myself for that matter. I would like for the two of us to be comfortable in one another's presence."

A small smile had spread on her lips while he spoke. "I'd like that too."

"Well then," he slid from the couch and dropped down to one knee in front of her. "Albus insisted that I buy a ring when this law was first being discussed, in case it came to this." Wordlessly, he summoned the small box from his nightstand in the bedroom. "Hermione Granger, will you marry me?"

She couldn't say it was the most romantic thing she'd ever heard and certainly it wasn't her ideal circumstance with her ideal man but it was what she had right now and she thought she could be happy with that. Who knew? Maybe he would turn out to be her ideal man. "Yes."

 **A/N: GUYS. I'M GETTING MARRIED. (And unlike Severus and Hermione, it isn't because of a marriage law.) My man got down on one knee yesterday and popped the question and I'm not too proud to admit that I blubbered like a baby.**

 **I love reviews.**


	12. Purloin

Purloin

per-LOIN, PUR-loin | verb

1: to take dishonestly; steal; filch; pilfer

"Severus, you look dashing this evening."

Severus Snape stared dumbly as she stood before him smirking, one manicured eyebrow quirked suggestively. He could admit to himself that she looked ravishing. Her deep red one-shouldered dress dove further between her cleavage than he dared to look. The creamy flesh there was like a fucking black hole. One glance and he'd be sucked in. "As do you, Hermione." Her smirk deepened and he had no doubt that she could read his thoughts like a book.

"Would you care for a dance?" Her hand reached out for his, her fingertips trailing against his skin. Merlin's balls, just the brush of her skin set him on fire.

"I am here with a date," he reminded her.

Hermione let out an annoyed huff. "I am aware. Madame Pygmy Puff."

Severus bit down on a smile. "Indeed." He was well aware of the moniker that had been bestowed upon Rosalie Stevens by the press. Probably because of the pink hair she was currently sporting – pulled up into an elegant twist for the evening, of course. "She's quite a possessive woman, you know."

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her impressive cleavage. "You've been out with her, what, three times?"

It was Severus's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Have I?"

Realizing her mistake, Hermione blushed and said nothing. She had been watching jealously in the papers as they reported on Severus Snape's new flame. She was a bit stung that he had moved on so quickly from that night. "Where is she anyway?"

He gestured across the ballroom to where his date was engaged in catching up with her friends. Running his eyes along her form, he couldn't help but compare her to the woman in front of him. Where Rosalie was tall and lean, Hermione was fuller, more filled out. Being a bit of a boob man himself, he couldn't help but give the younger woman the point for that. Rosalie was far from stupid. She was a teacher of charms theory at a wizarding university in Brighton and had published an exceptional number of papers in the field. Hermione, though… He would be lying if he said that she did not fascinate him. The way her mind operated, non-stop, all day every day full speed ahead, intrigued him. His cock twitched as his own mind pushed forward a memory of the one time he had ever seen the young woman's brain completely shut down – writhing beneath him, stark naked.

"Surely she won't mind if I steal you for just one dance," Hermione coaxed with just a hint of heat in her voice.

Sighing, he acquiesced, holding out his hand for her own smaller one. Leading her out to the dance floor, he couldn't help but feel that this would not end well for him. Gathering the young woman in his arms, he felt the bare skin of her back against his fingertips and fought not to gulp. As they began to twirl in time with the music, there was only a short moment of silence before she started in on him.

"I have a proposition for you."

"By all means, do share," he told her dryly, which earned him a woefully unintimidating glare.

"Last month was… enjoyable."

He felt that same twitch down below at the mention of that night. It had been yet another of the Ministry's ridiculous black tie functions. He had spied her across the room in the absolutely _delicious_ number she had been wearing and downed an embarrassing number of shots of firewhiskey before he'd been able to gather the courage around him to go and speak to her. He had found her to be surprisingly responsive to his attentions. They had left the event early at her whispered "My place or yours?"

The night had hardly ended there. Severus had thoroughly shagged her brains out and when he found himself too exhausted to continue, she gladly returned the favor. When morning came, he had slipped from her apartment with naught but a single line scrawled on a parchment and placed on the pillow, thanking her politely for her company the previous night. He'd had no desire to see her face in the light of day as she regretted the wild, carefree night they'd experienced. He preferred to keep the memories untainted.

"Yes," he agreed slowly, drawing the single syllable out in a way that made her shiver – he could feel it where he held her against him.

She looked up into his face, meeting his gaze boldly. "I would like to repeat the experience."

Once again he found himself staring dumbly at her. "Pardon?"

Her nostrils flared and she rolled her eyes at him. "I quite enjoyed myself with you and I would like to do it again. On a regular basis, in fact."

He realized that they had stopped dancing – how long ago, he wasn't sure – and quickly moved them back into the swing of the rhythm. Over her head, his eyes sought out Rosalie on the opposite end of the ballroom. She was watching him with a raised brow and a slight frown. He had not been toying with the little witch when he'd said that his date was possessive. With reason. They had, in fact, been on four dates, and had agreed just the week before that they would see each other exclusively. He liked her well enough. She was attractive, brilliant, and close to his own age. Severus was no cheater. Even when his cock was threatening to strangle him in his sleep.

"I am seeing someone, Hermione," he informed her, voice heavy with regret.

Letting out the breath she had been holding, she nodded. "I understand." And she did. Truly. But she would never have forgiven herself if she hadn't at least extended the offer. How could he know that she was interested if she never informed him of such? Still though, the rejection stung. She would be lying if she said she hadn't hoped that he would agree. Hermione was no virgin but _Merlin_ , the sex had been unbelievable. The man was surely gifted with a wand – the real wooden variety as well as the metaphorically wooden variety.

They continued to dance in silence until, as the song drew to a close, Hermione murmured, "Thank you for the dance." She made her way across the ballroom to where Potter and his red-haired wife sat, and Severus couldn't help but watch the way her rear end sashayed as she walked away from him.

oOo

Hermione took a deep gulp of the tea she'd prepared before bed. Dropping into a chair in her small kitchen, she ran a hand along her scalp, scratching lightly with her nails and groaning a little at the incredible feeling of finally having her hair free after a night of being pulled into an up-do. Not being an emotionally wrought teenager any longer, she refused to allow herself to shed tears over her failure to sway Severus that evening. It did hurt, though. She supposed she could understand why he would choose to stay with _her_. She was ten years older than Hermione, more beautiful, and according to the papers, Rosalie Stevens was quite the intellectual. Severus deserved to have someone like her. Hermione wished she could let go of her logical mind and be irrational for just a moment. She wanted to hate the woman for winning his heart, but she couldn't.

A knock at her front door disturbed her thoughts. Her heart jumped into overdrive and she swore it had lodged itself in her throat. She stood so quickly from her chair that it toppled over onto the floor. Ignoring it, she hurried into the living room. She said a quick prayer to any deity that might be listening that he had changed his mind and threw open the door.

A teenaged girl stood in the doorway clutching a bedraggled piece of paper. "Miss, have you seen my dog?" she asked, thrusting the paper toward Hermione's face.

Squinting at the page and pulling her head back, she made out the picture of a scruffy looking little brown dog. She took back her prayer. This was not what she'd been hoping for. She shook her head. "No, sorry. I'll keep an eye out, though. What's his name?"

"Truffle," the girl said dejectedly. "If you see him, I live downstairs in apartment thirteen."

"Okay, I'll watch for him."

Hermione closed the door and sank down onto the floor with her back pressed against the wood. Damn her heart, but she'd thought it was him. She'd _hoped_ it was him. She had recklessly allowed herself to believe that he had changed his mind and come to fuck her silly.

The tremor of the door against her back startled her as another knock sounded. Sighing, she hauled herself to her feet and wondered what the girl had forgotten to tell her. She pulled the door open again with a carefully sympathetic look schooled onto her face…. And was greeted by the sight of a black overcoat draped around a white-clad chest.

Her eyes widened and she snapped her gaze to his face. Without a word, he reached for her chin and pulled her to him in a spine-tingling kiss. She froze for a second, shock overwhelming her system, before she melted into him. His hands found their way to her hips, pulling her body against his. Her fingers found themselves gripping the front of his shirt frantically. When, finally, he pulled back from the kiss, she was putty in his hands.

"Would you like to come in?" she offered, heart pounding.

He entered her apartment wordlessly, glancing around mildly. It hadn't changed much since he'd been here last.

She closed and locked the door behind them. Biting her lip and hoping she wouldn't curse herself for this later, she asked, "I thought you were seeing someone?" His eyes burned holes in her with the intensity of his gaze. Despite waiting anxiously for his answer, she crossed to him and slid her hands up his chest.

"I was."

"But… you aren't anymore?" she pressed hopefully.

He shook his head wordlessly.

Her hands crept up further to twine themselves in the hair at the back of his neck and pull his face down to hers. "Good," she murmured against his lips. "Tonight, you're mine."

 **A/N: Thanks everyone for your congratulations!**


	13. Slumberous

Slumberous

SLUHM-ber-uh s | adjective

1: sleepy; heavy with drowsiness, as the eyelids

She had fallen asleep while reading again. Severus watched her with a small smile playing across his lips. Lying on her back on the loveseat, her book fell forward over her chest. Her mouth was ever so slightly ajar.

He set his own book aside and gently lifted her in his arms, doing his best not to wake her. She whimpered softly and cuddled into his chest. Ascending the stairs toward their bedroom, he allowed himself to marvel yet again that she was his. A month since she'd accepted his proposition of moving in with him. Six since he'd first begun to take her interest seriously.

 _"Dinner tonight?" she asked for the seventh time, leaning on the counter top of his small apothecary shop._

 _"Miss Granger," he began, exasperated._

 _"Hermione," she insisted – again._

 _Growling, he conceded. "Hermione," – he ignored the grin of triumph on her face – "I refuse to be a part of whatever sick little bet you've made with your posse. I merely wish to run my shop in peace."_

 _She raised her eyebrows. "You think this is a bet? Is_ that _why you keep turning me down?"_

 _He frowned at her. "Isn't it?" She couldn't actually be interested in him, could she?_

 _"No. I genuinely just want to have dinner with you. I'd like to get to know you better as a person rather than my professor."_

 _"Not a date?" he queried hesitantly. Just dinner… It might be nice to eat out with another human being for once, rather than returning home to a sad dinner alone of soup and potatoes for the third time this week._

 _She grinned at him mischievously. "Only if you want it to be."_

That night after dinner he'd apparated with her to her apartment to be sure she made it in safely – the Dark Lord may have been dead and gone, but there were still plenty of whack-jobs in the world – and she had invited him in for a cup of post-dinner coffee. Having enjoyed her company at dinner, he accepted the invitation.

 _"Dinner was nice" she remarked over her steaming mug of coffee._

 _He raised one brow at her. "It was not unpleasant."_

 _She smirked. "Not unpleasant, my ass. You think I didn't see you drooling when they brought out that steak?"_

 _He did not deign to answer that._

 _"Care to do it again sometime?"_

 _"I would not be opposed to that," he answered delicately. He had not abhorred the evening. Her company had been pleasant and the food had been divine. "Still not a date?"_

 _She broke into a grin. "Oh, no, this one would most definitely be a date."_

 _His stomach lurched a little at that and he hesitated, staring into the dark liquid in his hands. It had been many years since he'd been on a real date. Did he even want to date a woman? "Alright."_

The first date had come and gone smoothly, if politely, and he'd been surprised when she'd shown up at his shop again the next day and requested another.

 _He stared silently at the woman smiling hopefully across the counter at him. Setting aside the small envelope of dried corpse weed he'd been packaging for shipment, he came around the front of the counter. She stood her ground as he stepped close to her and put his hands on either side of her face. Their lips met gently and he felt her body melt against him._

 _"Alright," he agreed after he pulled back. Turning his back, he moved back around to continue packing up the order._

 _"Er," she said, unsure of herself for the first time in all of this, "not that I'm complaining at all, but what was that?"_

 _He turned to look at her mildly and shrugged. "No point wasting either of our time if that didn't do anything for us."_

 _"So… it worked for you?"_

 _A hint of a smile ghosted his lips when he met her eyes. "It did."_

He pushed the bedroom door open with his foot and moved toward the bed. He stared at the neatly made sheets and then looked down at the woman in his arms. How did he… But then, he was a wizard, wasn't he? Shifting her more securely against his shoulder, he freed one hand and waved it at the bed. Obediently, the comforter moved back from her side and he was able to lay her gently down onto the bed. After pulling the blankets back up around her, he turned to leave when a hand shot out and grabbed onto his trousers. He glanced down to see her looking up at him with sleepy eyes. A warm smile, made just for him, lit her face.

"Come to bed," she requested softly.

After a month of sharing his bed with her, he was still unable to resist the call of her, and so he nodded in agreement. He stripped out of his shirt and pants and climbed into bed beside her. He'd barely gotten settled beneath the blankets when she rolled over and pressed her face into his neck with a sleepy sigh.

"I love you, Severus," she murmured.

He froze, heart pounding. She'd… She'd said she loved him. She hadn't ever… He wanted to ask her to repeat herself, demand to know if she really meant it, but her breath was quickly evening out on his neck as she fell asleep. He rolled onto his side, wrapping an arm around her waist and watching her face as she fell into sleep.

 _"Wow," she muttered, lying naked beside him on the bed. "That was… wow."_

 _His chest rumbled with a laugh. "Well put." They'd been seeing each other for a few months now and they'd been taking it slow. He hadn't wanted to rush her into anything. That attitude had been blown right out of the water tonight when she'd shown up for their date in a low-cut, Slytherin green dress with a slit that extended to absolutely sinful heights. They hadn't even made it out of his house. They'd only barely made it out of the living room. The dress was lying on the floor somewhere beside the couch. He wasn't entirely sure in which direction he had thrown the garment once he'd managed to peel it from her body._

 _Rolling over, he pressed a kiss to the soft skin of her neck. He curled himself around her and pressed his face into her shoulder. She smiled and wrapped her arm up to cradle his face against her. "Thank you for giving me a chance," she murmured._

 _"Thank you for persisting," he returned._

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I love you too, Hermione," he whispered, knowing she was too deeply asleep to hear him, but knowing that he would tell her soon enough.


	14. Prelapsarian

Prelapsarian

pree-lap-SAIR-ee-uh n | adjective

1: characteristic of or pertaining to any innocent or carefree period

A glimmer of light in the corner of her eye caught her attention. Her stomach flopped at the signal. He was here. She glanced at the boys sitting outside the tent and her eyes focused on the locket dangling from Harry's neck. Thank Merlin it wasn't her day to wear the thing. He hated seeing her with it and she didn't blame him. It always put a damper on their visits when she was in a dark mood simply from the exposure to the Dark Lord's soul. Ron's eyes followed her when she got up and walked toward the tent while Harry's pinched face remained cast towards the ground, but neither boy said a word to her.

She fetched the invisibility cloak from where she had left it slung over the foot of Harry's cot. Swinging it around her shoulders, she left the hood off for now.

"I'm going for a walk," she informed them quietly. They were well used to her disappearing from the campsite for sometimes hours at a time under the relative safety of the cloak. "As always, if I haven't returned in four hours, assume the worst."

They both nodded silently, neither of them overly concerned. She threw the hood over her head and disappeared over the protective circle surrounding their camp.

This was far from their first meeting like this, but still her heart skipped into overdrive as she laid eyes on him in the usual place among the trees. He had foregone the black overcoat today, leaving him in only his white button down shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows. The Dark Mark stood out starkly against his pale skin but they were well beyond the point of her being unsettled by the sight. She did not remove the cloak as she approached him, opting instead to move around behind him. A small smirk graced his features as she squeezed his ass in greeting.

"Good to see you, too," he murmured, turning to where he knew she would be. She pushed back her hood and he drank in the sight of her face almost hungrily. "Shall we?" She took the proffered arm and he apparated them away with a soft _pop_.

They didn't speak of their lives during these visits. This was an escape from reality – for both of them. She didn't tell him about hunting horcruxes and living on the run and he, in return, kept silent about his difficulty reigning in trouble at the school. The small abandoned hunting cabin that they had made their own was a safe haven from the outside world, if only for a little while. There was no running water in the cabin, and by that she was both pleased and disheartened. She would have given almost anything for the chance to shower – and to shower with _him_ – but she knew that it wouldn't have been fair to the boys for her to indulge in such a luxury and so she was glad of the fact that she didn't have to try to resist the temptation. She thought maybe he knew that.

Neither of them said a word as she dropped the cloak to the floor. His hands came to cradle her face and he pressed his lips against hers in a searing kiss that set her body on a smoldering path to the fire she knew very well that he could ignite in her. Her arms went around his back, clutching his shirt in her fists. One of his hands moved to her hip, pulling her flush against his body. She whimpered into his mouth and felt his answering smile. She allowed her head to loll to the side as his lips moved to the tender point between her neck and shoulder. Untucking his shirt from his trousers, she moved her hands beneath the fabric, raking her nails across the skin of his back just the way she knew he liked it. A deep groan rewarded her for her efforts.

Pulling away from her, he led her toward the small bed against the far wall of the cabin. He ignored her squeal as he plucked her off her feet and tossed her onto the bed, a small frown furrowing his brow. She watched him curiously for a moment, unsure about the change in his mood. All thoughts of that were erased when he climbed onto the bed after her, pinning her hands above her head and devouring her lips with his own. She wrapped her legs around his hips, pushing herself against him. He growled and released her hands, which immediately went to work unbuttoning his shirt. He was all too happy to allow her to push the garment from his shoulders and shrugged it off, letting it fall to the floor beside the bed. Then it was his turn. Slowly they took turns undressing each other, not rushing through anything, enjoying the sensation of the skin on skin contact as though it were the first time – though it was anything but. When, finally, he entered her, she moaned his name as if he were the only person who existed and he had to fight himself not to just pummel her into the small, worn mattress. Instead he moved slowly, taking his time and stoking the fire in her, building her up to her release first. The moment the haze had begun to clear from her eyes, he let himself go, following her down quickly with her own name on his lips.

Afterward, neither of them felt inclined to remove themselves from the bed, so he pulled the thin blanket that he had smuggled into the shack over their still-naked bodies and wrapped her in his arms. Her head tucked easily beneath his chin while her fingers traced aimless patterns over his skin.

"Severus?" she asked quietly.

"Mmm?"

"Do you really think we should keep doing this?" She felt him tense at that and then quickly go limp, sighing.

"It's dangerous," he admitted.

"But you still want to," she finished softly. He nodded once against her head. Her lips pulled upward in a small smile. "Good."

His arms tightened around her and he rolled them into a spooning position, her back firmly pulled against his chest. She threaded her fingers through one hand draped across her body and reveled in the warmth of him. The nights were steadily getting colder out there. More than once she had wished for him to be there with her, holding her, warming her. She worried that with winter approaching it would not be the Death Eaters that killed them, but the weather. Witch or not, there was only so much a warming charm could do. She wondered what he would do if he wandered into camp one day to check on her and found her frozen to the ground under a pile of snow. The thought didn't disturb her as much as it ought to. It was certainly more appealing than being caught by Death Eaters and having to look into his eyes as she was tortured, almost certainly raped, and murdered.

If the Dark Lord commanded it, would he be the one to do it? She had seen the mask of the Death Eater Severus that he wore and she could admit that it was terrifying. She didn't think that he loved her, but they were close enough that she was sure he would feel _something_ if he was ordered to kill her. Probably not enough that he would refuse, and that thought was disheartening at the same time as it comforted her. He would still be able to go on working to bring down the most evil wizard of all time and.. maybe he would still survive.

Unlikely as the thought was, what if they both survived? Would _this_ – whatever _this_ was – survive as well? Would they remain drawn to each other? Would he want to continue this thing between them? She could only imagine how Harry and Ron would react to finding out that she had been carrying on with him while they had been running for their lives. Starving. Terrified. Freezing. She felt a pang of guilt for her warmth.

"Hermione." His voice drew him out of her thoughts. There was an edge of what she thought was concern in his voice. "I shouldn't have been able to pick you up and throw you so easily."

Her heart sank. So they were going to have this conversation? So much for ignoring the real world. She shrugged. "I'm on the run. I live in a tent. We eat what and when we can, but…" She didn't have to finish the sentence for him to know what she meant.

He was silent for a long moment, though his arms had tightened around her to an almost painful degree. "I will bring you food."

It sounded heavenly, a godsend. She _needed_ that food. But immediately, she was protesting. "I can't just eat my fill and let the boys starve on their own!"

"So bring it with you," he growled. "Tell them that you found it somewhere. I don't care. But I will not let you starve out there on my watch."

Her heart fluttered a bit at that. She wanted to protest further but she knew that he was adamant and, really, she was so hungry that she didn't think she could honestly turn him down if she wanted to. So instead, she admitted defeat and murmured, "Thank you."

He was quiet for so long she thought that was the end of their conversation. "Hermione, I realize that this is… a fling that is happening between us. It's our distraction from the horrible things happening to us both. But… I do care about you. I want you to be healthy and strong and _safe_. Not just because I happen to enjoy fucking you." She could hear the light smirk in his voice at that last comment.

She rolled over, turning in his arms to meet his dark gaze. Despite his last statement, he looked very serious. She took a moment to contemplate her words. How easily she could ruin this whole thing. "It is a distraction," she agreed. "But I don't think it's a fling."

He just looked at her blankly.

She raised one hand to stroke his cheek. "I care about you too. I worry for you every single day. More than I do for myself," she admitted warily, unsure how he would react. "More than anything, I want you to survive this. I want…" She bit her lip, averting her gaze to the hollow of his throat rather than continue to look him in the eye. "I want to give this thing a real try with us. I have no idea if you want that or if you think I'm just a silly girl good for some fun and stress relief and if that's what you think, it's okay. I can live with that and respect your wishes, but-"

She was cut off when he raised her chin with one hand and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. "If I survive this," he murmured, "and that's a very large _if_ , I would very much like to take you up on that."

She smiled at him, too tired and too hungry to do much more.

"Get some sleep," he instructed her. "I'll wake you up before your four hours are up. You need the rest."

He was right about that. She didn't even try to argue. Instead, she snuggled deeper against him and closed her eyes. For now, she was warm and safe and content. In his arms, she was almost carefree.


	15. Janus-faced

Janus-faced

JEY-nuh s-feyst | adjective

2: having two contrasting aspects, as the alternation of mood in a capricious person

It was his turn to provide the night's entertainment, and like the good little soldier that he was – to which master, he often wasn't entirely sure himself – he had obliged. The sandy-haired man quivered against the conjured ropes binding him. Severus had toyed with the idea of blindfolding the man, but in the end, he had decided that the absence of one would result in more fear. The man was a wizard. He knew who they were. Severus knew that his audience was disappointed that he had not brought them a woman – preferably barely of age and with a pretty face – but he was the one who'd have to torture the victim and he was grateful not to have the blood of yet another young woman on his hands if he could help it. Frankly, his choice had been random. He'd waited in the shadows beside a wizarding nightclub and made a grab for the first lone figure unfortunate enough to stumble from the press of bodies into the dark night outside.

"Severuss," hissed the Dark Lord. He lounged on the throne at the front of the room almost lazily, twirling his wand in his thin fingers. "It is time to begin. Make an ex-ssample of him."

The spy inclined his head deeply. "Nothing would bring me more pleasure, My Lord." _Not nearly so much as watching your empire crumble._

In the light of the ballroom, it turned out that the man was a former student of his. Severus was not saddened to learn that he couldn't recall more than the man's surname. He couldn't even remember to which house the blonde had belonged. Severus wondered idly if he had had nightmares as a student of just this event. Severus Snape would indeed be the death of this man tonight. Severus Snape would be the hand of mercy to this man tonight.

"Mister Grable," he drawled, his wand falling into his palm. He saw more than heard the man's whimper. "I'm afraid that this may just be the worst detention you've ever experienced." A few nasty chuckles floated up from the room behind him. _This may just be the worst detention that I've ever experienced._ " _Crucio_."

Screams split the air and Severus allowed a smile to creep over his face. He felt the urge to vomit, as he did every time. He'd tortured countless people, countless times, and yet, the sick feeling never seemed to lessen. He only became more adept at hiding it. He only held the man under his wand for a few seconds – no more than twelve. He wasn't yet certain of how strong this one was and he did not want to end things too quickly. It would go poorly for him if he did so. The man wriggled, straining against his bonds. His breaths came hard and fast but he was far from broken yet.

Excellent. He hoped that the man would last long enough that he, himself would be spared torture tonight. He hoped that the man would break quickly so that he would not have to hear his screams echoing through his dreams tonight.

Severus knew that, while the torture curse was a particular favorite of the Death Eaters, there were other ways to torture. Ones that did not endanger the mind quite so heavily. Ones that were of higher entertainment value to his audience, upon whose favor he depended. He stepped closer to the body lying prone on the floor. Mister Grable's eyes glared up at him, anger and fear making them hard. He smiled wider.

" _Sectumsempra_." Another scream, this one laced with shock. There was blood on the floor, where there hadn't been before. The man was missing only a single finger. The middle digit of his right hand was now lying, dismembered, centimeters away from the rest of the hand. Severus took a moment to wonder at how, once removed from the others, the finger somehow no longer looked like a finger at all. He noticed that it could never be mistaken for anything other than what it was.

"Fuck!" shrieked the man on the floor.

"Oh, no, Mister Grable," Severus said, laughing darkly. "You are most definitely not my type." _And I am most definitely not yours._ He heard raucous laughter break out behind him. It bolstered his resolve. It wore down on what was left of his soul. "Pardon me for noticing, but you seem to be lopsided. Let me fix that for you." As the flash of white light bore down on him, the man curled in on himself, trying to draw his hand away as best he could, hogtied though he was.

That was a bit too much blood, Severus decided. He'd severed the whole damn hand and the arteries of the man's wrist was spurting out much too much of his life's blood. He muttered a spell to cauterize the wound and the bleeding slowed to a much more acceptable level. Lucky that he had studied up on his healing spells. He should have let the man bleed to death. It would have been faster.

The man was screaming something unintelligible and Severus tuned him out. He supposed he couldn't just carry on chopping off body parts or he'd chop all of him sooner rather than later. Especially if the man kept rolling around like he was currently doing. He wondered idly if the man realized that he was smashing his own severed hand with all his thrashing. Severus presumed that it didn't really matter – it was a severed hand, after all. Once it was severed, he guessed that the man had lost all attachment to it. He allowed himself a chuckle at that. It was rather a good pun, circumstances aside.

He silently locked the man in a full-body bind. This next curse would be difficult with all the rolling about. Using his foot to push the rigid body onto its back, he lowered his wand until he was nearly poking his victim in the eye. The mouth was frozen in a scream, the eyes wide and terrified. There was little of the man's defiance left now. There would be less after this. " _Defodio_ ," he intoned. With a satisfying and entirely nauseating little _squelch_ , the man's eye popped from its socket, gouged neatly by his spell. That piece of work had come from a text so old and so foul, he daren't even repeat its name. He released the body bind and his ears were immediately assaulted by screaming. Annoying. Horrifying.

He cocked his head to one side, considering his next move. He could go for the old-fashioned, muggle methods, but he just didn't know how much entertainment value Chinese water torture held, and pulling fingernails lost appeal when there were only four left from which to choose. Instead, he aimed his wand at the man's left knee. " _Reducto_ ," he said coldly. His face indicated pleasure. His voice indicated boredom. Even over the screams, the distinct _crunch_ of bone shattering into a thousand tiny shards could be heard clearly throughout the room. He wondered if the Dark Lord would allow him to harvest the shards for potions ingredients. He wondered if the Dark Lord would allow him to live through the night.

Mister Grable let out a string of obscenities that would have impressed the most well-traveled of sailors. "Just fucking kill me!" he screamed, half sobbing.

Severus made a habit of giving in to this request. The pleas were what haunted him in the quiet moments of his life. The pleas were what granted him the ability to continue on with his pathetic half-life. It allowed him the ability to think of his actions as mercy. It forced him to remember why they had pleaded.

He looked to the Dark Lord for permission. He daren't kill the man without it. With a small smile, the snake-faced monstrosity nodded once, barely more than a small incline of the head, but it was enough. Leveling his wand at the man's head, he uttered another cold, " _Reducto_ ," and watched in detachment as the skull exploded. He knew that the house elves would complain about the mess. He hoped that he would not be asked to provide entertainment for a while yet.

 **A/N: Well, that was more gruesome than anticipated. On another note: Socially awkward twenty-something female seeks sort of pen-pal friend. Interests include sarcasm, inappropriate remarks, and all things nerdy. Engaged and NOT looking for romance.**


	16. Lickspittle

Lickspittle

LIK-spit-l | noun

1: A contemptible, fawning person; a servile flatterer or toady

"-And your paper on recognizing kelpies was inspired. Relocation over extermination. Brilliant, absolutely brilliant."

His long blonde hair was entirely too Malfoy-esque for her liking. "Recognition and Relocation of Scottish Death Horses" had been the actual title of the paper he was spewing vague praises to. Hermione doubted if the well-groomed man with his perfectly coifed hair had even read her paper. Likely, he had asked his buddy, who was seemingly trying to appear inconspicuous as he glanced at them every few seconds from the punch bowl, but failing miserably. She'd have rather talked to him. Politely, she nodded along as the man continued to prattle.

"-Such good work you've done with your name," he said. "So many war heroes simply faded into obscurity, but _you_. All these years later and you're still appearing faithfully at these balls. Always looking divine, I might add." He allowed his eyes to rake down her frame and she rolled her eyes. "I'd like to take you to dinner."

"Mister…" Gods blast, she'd forgotten his name. "Er – I'm afraid that I am not looking for a romantic relationship at this time." She glanced around the room for a familiar face.

The man laughed. "I get it. You're a strong, independent woman. Even strong, independent women need to eat." He winked.

"No, thank you," she said firmly, edging away from him. The only familiar face that she'd spotted wasn't ideal but at least he would keep away this idiot and the many others here like him.

"If you change your mind, you know where to find me." She didn't, actually, as she had tuned out that part of the conversation, but no need to inform him of that. He grabbed her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. "I would be honored to escort such a beauty as yourself any time."

She gave him a small, polite smile and retreated from him. An expressionless mask of indifference greeted her approach and she sat beside her old professor wordlessly. No one would dare talk to her here.

"Using my presence as a shield?" he asked mildly. "How Slytherin of you."

She shrugged. "I could not give less of a fuck."

Severus Snape snorted. "How lady-like."

"Again. Could not give less of a fuck." She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs at the knee. Her floor-length gown rustled at the movement. "How many years do you suppose they'll keep this up?"

"All of them," he answered dryly. "Until the end of time."

"Lovely. How many years do you suppose you'll keep this up?"

He raised one eyebrow in her direction. "All of them. Until the day I die."

She blinked in surprise. "Why?"

"I am the placid show pony." She could hear the contempt in his voice.

"Placid. Right. And I'm a runway model."

He eyed her. "In that dress? Perhaps so. Blue is a flattering color on you, Miss Granger."

She laughed. This was not happening. "No, you're shitting me, right?"

He rolled his eyes. "I am not 'shitting' you. Nor am I hitting on you. Fear not, you won't need to run off to find another shield. I am merely stating a fact. The sky is blue, wizards are idiots, you look nice in that dress tonight."

"And you are anything but placid."

He sighed. "It was a condition of my release that I attend the annual ball to be paraded around before the masses."

Ah, yes. While awaiting trial, Severus had done a stint in Azkaban. Harry and Hermione had worked tirelessly preparing witnesses, testimonies, and evidence to acquit the man. They had, of course, succeeded. Honestly, had Harry simply shown up and said "pretty please," they would likely have released the man on the spot, such was the hero-worship of the Boy-Who-Lived-Yet-Again at the time. She thought she had known the trial inside and out. How had she not been aware of that detail? It was a small thing, she supposed, but likely one that was viewed with a yearly dread.

"I'm sure that you love that," she said dryly.

He leaned back in his seat, eyeing her thoughtfully. "It isn't so bad."

She raised her eyebrows. "Now you're really shitting me. Have we been attending the same balls every year? They're awful."

"Ah, yes, well I have the benefit of hunkering down here in black and glowering at anyone who comes near. You, however, always seem to choose brightly colored gowns that light you up like a billboard. 'Here I am,' you shout. 'Please fawn over me.'"

"Why, Professor, I had no idea that you paid any kind of attention to what I wore." He merely snorted in answer. "Perhaps next year I'll join you in your black glowering."

"I would pay to see that, Miss Granger."

 _One year later…_

Severus stepped into the usual ballroom and glanced around the room to see the usual people dancing the usual dances in time to the usual music. This was the tenth such ball he had attended since the end of the war and, by now, they all seemed to blend into one another. As he crossed the ballroom to his usual seat at his usual table, however, something new struck him. There she was, wearing a breathtaking one-shouldered black number, sitting in the seat beside his usual one, and glowering silently as he approached. It was good that he'd brought his wallet tonight. He had every intention of paying up.

 **A/N: In case any of you are actually checking me on these, yes, I know this isn't today's WotD. I had started this one a while ago and didn't finish it at the time. I couldn't bear to let it go unfinished so here it is anyway.**

 **On another note, I've been thinking a lot about wild hamsters lately (because I work in a pet store and WHAT EVEN ARE HAMSTERS). This was a lovely and quite entertaining article of the taming of hamsters if any of you want a laugh.**

 **www . npr 2011/04/10/135268583/how-the-wild-hamster-was-tamed**


	17. Kibitzer

Kibitzer

KIB-it-ser | noun

2: a giver of uninvited or unwanted advice

She could _feel_ him watching her. Why, oh, why did it have to be him? At least he was invisible. She could almost hear the questions that would be asked of her if her family, her _muggle_ family, could see him staring intently at her all evening. She could almost see the looks they would be throwing him. Dumbledore had insisted on sending a member of the Order to accompany her to her family's annual Christmas reunion. Severus Snape had been the one to draw the short straw and she was glad she hadn't been around when he'd been informed of his bad luck. Thankfully, Harry had been willing to part with his cloak for the evening and the dour professor was currently standing unobtrusively in a corner of the room, invisible, and likely bored out of his mind.

Well, his entertainment was not her problem. It wasn't like the man had gone out of his way to make anything a pleasant experience for her, ever. His classes were practically torture and interacting outside of classes was, if anything, worse. She did hope that no one bumped into him, though. It would be a bit difficult to explain to Great Aunt Lydia – who believed a bit too strictly, in Hermione's opinion, in the Roman Catholic faith and had screeched in horror and outrage when she had caught Hermione reading The Lord of the Rings in the fourth grade – why there was a wizard in the living room.

She couldn't very well tell Great Aunt Lydia that Lord Voldemort, the darkest wizard to ever live, was gaining followers at an unprecedented rate as the magical world jumped ship to the supposed winning team. Professor Snape was here to ensure that Hermione, at least, would not bite it should Death Eaters decide to crash the party. Of course, being their spy, she would hope that he would have known if they were going to have unexpected guests. Still, it would almost be worth it to see Great Aunt Lydia screeching about witchcraft and the devil and attempting to beat Malfoy Sr. about the face with the large-print bible that she kept on the coffee table.

"Hermione!"

A hand clamped around her arm and pulled Hermione into a crushing hug. "Granny!" she returned. Her mother's mother, while definitely getting up there in years, remained in excellent health. Hermione hoped that she would be as physically fit at her age.

"How are you, dear?" asked the older woman, pulling back and holding her granddaughter at arm's length. She stared intently into her face. "How is that school of yours?"

Granny, along with Hermione's own parents and, of course, her professor lurking in the corner, was the only person in the room who knew the truth about what and who Hermione really was. Thankfully, unlike her sister, Jean Barber had had no problems with accepting the fact that Hermione was a witch. "I've heard stranger things, dear," she had said, patting her daughter on the hand, when she had been told.

"It's wonderful, as always, Granny, thank you. How are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm just fine. Are you seeing anyone?" She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Hermione blushed. "No, Granny."

"And why not? You're young and attractive and you should be taking advantage of that," the old woman chided. She took Hermione's hand and led her toward a few chairs… in the corner of the room in which her guardian was disguised. Her heart leapt into her throat. "Let me give you some advice.

"Granny, I don't-"

"Nonsense," she cut off. "You are seventeen years old and in the prime of your life and, while I may be old now, I was young once and I do remember a thing or two about bagging a young man. Sit."

Hermione miserably did as she was told, pointedly not looking in his direction. Lovely, more fuel for humiliation.

"Now, tell me how you approach a young man."

She gaped at her grandmother. No way was she going to have this conversation in front of _him_. "I don't really-"

The old woman huffed. "Hermione, you will never bag a beau if you don't approach with confidence. Men like to see a woman who knows what she's about. You march right up to him and you tell him that you're interested. Make a fun play on words. Tell him you'd like to take a ride on his broom. That's a thing you magic folk do, right?"

This was it. She was going to sink into the floor right here and now and disappear forever. At least, she rather hoped that she would. Snape was never going to let her hear the end of this, and, worse, he would never let the rest of her classmates hear the end of it either. "Please, Granny, can we not-" she tried feebly, but the woman would not hear her plea.

"I'm old, Hermione. I would like to see great-grandchildren one day before I die. And speaking of which, I've got some tips for that too."

Please, _no_ , her seventy-five-year-old grandmother could _not_ be about to give her advice for her sex life. She didn't even _have_ a sex life at this point! Please not now. Not in front of him. She couldn't see him, but she could see the wicked smirk that was likely plastered across his wretched face as he listened in. She couldn't even be angry with him for doing so. He had assured her that he would remain in this one corner for the duration of the evening. It wasn't his fault that this conversation was being had within his range of hearing.

As her grandmother proceeded to wax eloquent about various aspects of pleasing a man in bed and pleasing herself in bed, which, Granny pointed out, was just as important, Hermione sat in nearly a catatonic state. She nodded along, trying desperately not to think too hard about what she was being told and in whose presence she was being told.

"And remember, dear, just be willing to let loose and have fun. Experiment. Try new things. Sometimes dirtier is better." She winked at her granddaughter suggestively.

"Granny…" Hermione glanced toward the corner where her guard was standing, and lowered her voice. "I was actually assigned an, er, escort for the evening to ensure the safety of this event. Professor Severus Snape is standing about three feet from us, invisible, and heard every word that you just said."

The old woman, far from being embarrassed, cackled. "Well, dear, I'm sure that the good professor can confirm everything that I've just said, isn't that right?"

"Indeed, madam," came his voice quietly from the corner. Hermione could hear the humor in his voice and groaned loudly, burying her face in her arms.

As it turned out upon their return to the Burrow that evening, she was unable to look 'the good professor' anywhere near the face as she thanked him for accompanying her. She took the cloak from him and turned to make her escape.

He cleared his throat and she paused. "Your grandmother was correct, you know. Confidence is sexy."

"Well, Professor," she answered, without turning back to face him, "perhaps in a few years I can test that theory. For now, I don't know that it would get me anywhere."

"Probably not," he agreed. "In a few years, perhaps you can test a few of her other theories as well."

A small smile tugged the corner of her mouth as her stomach twisted pleasantly. "I look forward to it. Good evening, sir."

As the door closed behind her retreating form, he turned on the spot and apparated away. Only a whispered, "Good night, Hermione," remained behind him.

 **A/N: Two for one today, I suppose. This is today's actual word. I'm quite amused by the image of Malfoy Sr. being beat about the face by an old woman with a bible.**


	18. Fossick

Fossick

FOS-ik | verb

3: to hunt; seek; ferret out

Someone was fucking with his wards. Severus Snape was a man who valued privacy above all else. The very instant he had been allowed to slink away from the commotion and the limelight, he had done so. That was weeks ago. Not a soul had bothered him since then. Whether anyone had bothered to make an effort to locate him, he neither knew nor cared, but now there was a person outside his home poking a stick at his wards.

Bristling, he threw on his coat and flung the front door open. It bounced off the wall of the house with a loud _bang_. "What?" he snarled into the yard, then stopped, blinking, at the sight of the familiar face beyond his gate.

Hermione offered him a scowl, her hands falling to her hips. "I was promised a real date if we both survived the war," she growled. "Well here we both are. I have been attempting to reach you for _weeks_ , Severus. Let me in."

Wordlessly, he allowed her inside the wards.

"Thank you," she huffed, striding past him into his house.

"So," he said slowly, closing the door behind him, "you really want to try this out?"

Her eyes flashed and she stalked across the room. Pressing herself up on her toes, she pressed her lips against his. Instinctively, his hands went to her hips. Gods, she tasted divine. Pulling away, she pressed her face against his chest. "I missed you."

He hoped that she couldn't feel the way his heart was pounding. Merlin, how could this possibly be as terrifying as his near-death? "I meant what I said before."

"I don't want this to be just sex. I don't want this to be stress relief. I want _you_. I want to see if we can have a real relationship," she insisted.

He wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her against him. "I know."

"You almost died," she murmured.

He nodded solemnly. It was true. That gods-blasted snake had nearly done him in. If he hadn't despised the creature before – and he most assuredly had – he certainly did now. But he hadn't died. At least, he didn't think so. If he had, this was a wonderful version of heaven that he wasn't sure he deserved.

Her whisper was so quiet, he almost didn't hear it over the roaring of blood in his ears. "Let me love you."

"I care about you, Hermione, but," he could feel her sag in his hold, " – let me finish – but are you sure you want to throw your lot in with me? I want you to think long and hard about it." She sucked in a breath – to object, he was sure – but he cut her off. "No, listen to me. I am not a well-liked man. I would be a tarnish on your reputation."

"You really have been living under a rock, haven't you?"

He blinked. "I have isolated myself a bit," he admitted. "But-"

"No, Severus," she interrupted, "you are a hero. While I don't think you'll ever be well-liked by the general population, no one can deny that you helped save us all."

He scoffed. "I did far less than some."

"You did far more than most."

He frowned. "I did what was necessary."

She nodded. "You did. And the wizarding world recognizes that."

He looked down at her sharply and pushed her away from him, holding her at arm's length. "That isn't why you're here is it?"

Severus was almost sorry he'd asked as he watched the look of utter outrage spread across her face. "Severus Snape," she screeched, and he winced, "if you care to recall, I stuck with you through the worst of it. I was there when you were exhausted and afraid – oh yes, I was aware that you were scared shitless – and I held onto you and gave you what you needed. I never abandoned you and I have been searching for you since you got up from your hospital bed and walked off into the night. Don't you _dare_ accuse me of wanting you for your status."

The corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly. "I need you to be sure that this is what you want," he continued, as though she was not still panting from her anger and glaring daggers at him. "If we decide to do this, I may not ever let you change your mind."

Her expression softened. "Are you under the impression that I would do such a thing lightly?" She moved closer to him again and raised her hands to cup his face. "I want you in every possible meaning of the phrase. I've been sure about this for months. Neither of us should have survived the war but we did and I don't intend to squander what I've got left. Do you?"

A genuine smile ghosted across his lips as he met her gaze. "Fuck no."

 **A/N: In case you missed it, this is kind of a follow-up for Prelapsarian. I hope that you enjoyed, please leave a review on your way out!**


	19. Antinome

Antinome

AN-tuh-nohm | noun

1: something that is contradictory or opposite to another; a logical contradiction

Hermione Granger never overindulged. She was a grown woman, a professional, and she was always fully in control of herself. When her eyes cracked open the morning after Ginny Weasley's bachelorette party, her eyeballs were assaulted by the light from her open window and she was fairly certain that someone had lodged a sizeable ice pick straight through her ear and into her brain. She managed to keep from spewing all over the floor of her living room as she rolled over on the couch, groaning loudly. She hadn't the faintest idea why she was on her couch rather than in her bed. How much had she _drunk_? Merlin, she couldn't remember ever feeling so rotten after a night out.

She glanced at the grandfather clock against the far wall and bolted upright. Immediately, she clutched her head, hissing in pain. Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea. As the elephant parade inside her skull began to die down, she squinted again at the clock. Shit, breakfast was half over already. As quickly as she dared, she moved into the bedroom to dress. Her visit to Poppy for a hangover remedy would have to wait until after the meal.

It bothered her that she had only patchy recall of the night before. She hated not knowing exactly what had happened. What had she said, done? What had been said to her? Not that Hermione had many secrets, but what if she had said something monumentally stupid? There were those who would accuse her of being a hardass – rightfully so – and she shuddered to think that she had embarrassed herself.

 _"Oh, come on, Hermione, it's a_ party _! Have a drink!" Parvati pushed a shot of some bright pink concoction into her hands. Hermione stared at it for a good three seconds before she caught sight of Ginny across the room. The bride-to-be grinned wickedly and made a guzzling motion with her hand. With a sigh, Hermione downed it in one gulp._

Apparently, that had been the first of many drinks. As she quietly closed the front door of her rooms behind her, she cursed herself for being so bloody practical. She never drank more than she could handle, so she never kept hangover remedy in her potions cabinet. It was unnecessary, would only take up space.

"Like the porcupine taking up space in my head," she grumbled to herself as she gingerly descended the stairs toward the great hall.

She slipped into the hall through the staff entrance and slunk to her seat at the table between Severus and Ginny, who looked about as good as she did. At least the red-head had made it to the meal on time.

"How nice of you to join us," Severus greeted, rather more loudly than necessary, she thought.

She winced. "Please do stuff it." Had they not been in full view of the student body, she was sure he would have laughed at her. Over the year and a half that he had been her boss, he had moved from horrible git to tolerable coworker to decent meal companion. Somewhere after the first few months he had moved firmly into place as friend.

"Rough night?" he asked. She knew him well enough by now to hear the feigned tone of innocence in his voice.

She did not deign to answer his question, instead posing her own. "What's got you so chipper?"

"He's been like that all morning," Ginny grumbled from her other side. "I think he just likes seeing us suffer."

Hermione gave the professor an appraising look. "That sounds about right."

 _"So how do you know Ginny?" Hermione asked the woman sitting next to her. Ginny herself was sitting in a chair a meter or so off, eagerly watching a wizard dressed in a muggle police uniform gyrating in front of her._

 _"Hm?" The woman tore her eyes away from the show to glance over at Hermione. "Oh, we played together for the Harpies. I was so mad at her when she took that position at Hogwarts. I mean, seriously, you're going to go from playing professional quidditch to refereeing kiddy games?" She rolled her eyes._

 _Secretly, Hermione thought the woman was a bit of a bitch. She took another sip of her firewhisky._

"Actually," Severus said slowly, "I received a visitor last night, who gave me some surprising news."

"What news was that?"

One eyebrow raised in her direction. "That, Miss Granger, is not your business right now."

She blinked. It must have been juicy. He hadn't called her Miss Granger in more than a year.

 _"Hermione!" Ginny exclaimed, falling into the booth beside her maid of honor. "How's it over here?"_

 _Hermione, cheeks a bit pink from the alcohol, smiled and took a sip of her whisky. "It's great. You did a good party, Gin. I'm sooo happy for you."_

 _"I'm so happy for me too. But you need somebody. Want me to set you up with the stripper? He does a good show."_

 _She laughed. "He does do a good show," she agreed, "but I think I've already got my eye on a fellow."_

 _Ginny leaned forward and it was good that there was a table to catch her or she might have fallen out of her seat. "Who is it?"_

 _"I'm not telling," Hermione said in a sing-song voice. "It's a secret."_

"Oh, shit," she mumbled, letting her forehead fall into her hand. Try as she might, that was as far as she could remember. Had she told drunk Ginny her secret? She turned to her best friend. "Speaking of surprising news, did I, er, give you any last night?"

Ginny groaned. "Hermione, I have not the foggiest…" She trailed off, her face going slack.

oOo

 _"Please, Mione, I won't tell. Who is it?" It had been ages since Hermione had broken up with Ron and she had been so busy with the final year of her apprenticeship with McGonagall that she hadn't shown the slightest interest in dating anyone at all since._

 _"You have to promise you won't tell," the brunette answered, leaning forward across the table._

 _"I promise."_

 _"You swear?" Hermione took another sip of her whisky._

 _"I swear, just tell me who it is already!"_

 _"It's… No, sorry, I can't tell you."_

Sitting at the breakfast table the morning after the conversation, she felt the distinct urge to poke Hermione in the eye. You couldn't just have that kind of build-up and then _not_ tell her who it is. It was unfair.

"You sure did not," Ginny said sullenly.

oOo

Relief coursed through her. Of course she hadn't spilled her secret. It was basically her only secret. If she couldn't keep that one, then what good was she?

oOo

Severus still wasn't sure what to do with his surprise news. When he had answered a knock at his door at midnight, he had most certainly not been expecting what had greeted him.

 _"Severus!" Ginny nearly screeched at him._

 _He winced, getting a whiff of the alcohol on her breath. "What can I do for you this evening, Ginny?" He was long since past referring to her as Miss Weasley. With her replacing Madam Hooch and Hermione finishing up her training to step in for Minerva, who would be replacing him as head of the school, Hogwarts was looking a bit more youthful these days. After a year and a half, he had accepted the fact that the two were here to stay. It had been the hope, after all, when he hired them._

 _"I have a secret that I'm not 'sposed to tell you," she said in what he thought she must have believed was a whisper._

 _Tonight had been the future Mrs. Potter's bachelorette party, had it not? Obviously, the woman had had just a bit too much to drink. "Well then I would suggest running along and not telling me."_

 _"But she's been so saaad and looonely," Ginny continued, ignoring him as she articulated her point with her hands. "She didn't want me to tell you but friends don't let friends suffer in unrequited love."_

 _A spark of what felt suspiciously like hope flared to life in his chest. One eyebrow arched and he wondered if the ginger was referring to whom he hoped she was referring. Despite his curiosity, he insisted, "Ginny, I don't believe that you should be here telling me this."_

 _"Oh, fuff," she said, waving her hands in a dismissive motion. "She'll never tell you and then how will you knooow?"_

 _Severus sighed, dropping his forehead into one hand. He should just close the door on her and go back to bed. Alone. Lonely and heartsick like a fucking teenager. "Just tell me then, and get yourself to bed. You really shouldn't be wandering the school like this."_

 _Ginny grinned widely. "It's Hermione!"_

oOo

She had finally gotten her hangover remedy from Poppy. The air was crisp, her head was clear, and she no longer wanted to vomit on her own shoes.  
"Hermione," Severus called, approaching from the opposite end of the corridor, "may I have a word with you?"

She smiled, everything right with the world again with her brain porcupine evicted. "Of course." She followed him into a spare classroom, her eyebrows raised. "How professional."

He silenced the room wordlessly. "What I need to speak with you about… isn't strictly professional," he admitted.

She stared at him silently, waiting, as anxiety began to churn in her gut.

"Ginny came to see me last night."

"Oh, hell," Hermione groaned. "She didn't do anything ridiculous, did she? We both overindulged just a bit last night."

"Is there anything you would like to tell me?" he continued as though he hadn't heard her.

Her heart pounded. "I… No?" There were things that she should tell him. There were things she would like to hear from him. But there was nothing that she would _like_ to tell him. Admitting feelings for an ex-professor now one's boss was not a thing that any sane person would _like_ to do. He stared intently into her eyes and she got the sense that he was reading her. Merlin, what had Ginny told him? He stepped closer to her. Her breath hitched but she held her ground.

"No?"

She couldn't breathe. She shook her head wordlessly. He took another step toward her. He was close enough that she could feel the heat from his body. If she had the courage, she could reach out and touch him. She could pull him to her, wrap her arms around him. She could –

He let out a low growl of frustration and surged forward. He pulled her chin upward and his lips crashed down on hers. She felt her body go limp, her mind blanking completely. Then, without conscious direction, her hands reached up to clutch at the front of his robes and she was kissing him back and one of his hands was on her back, pulling her closer, and she was feeling lightheaded and she needed to _breathe_ and, long before she was ready, he was pulling back.

She blinked dumbly for a moment. "Ginny told you that, did she?"

He nodded.

She lowered her head, resting her forehead against his chest. "Is this allowed?" she asked quietly.

"No," he answered, and she could feel the rumble in his chest as he spoke. "A headmaster or -mistress is not permitted to be involved with one of his or her staff."

Her shoulders sagged.

"But I'm only headmaster for another three months." A smile spread slowly across her face as she looked up and met his eyes. "After that, just do your best not to shag Minerva and I believe that you'll be set."

She leaned into him. She could scarcely believe this was really happening. She would have to murder Ginny and thank her profusely later. "It will be difficult to restrain myself but I think I could be kept distracted."

He smiled, and the look in his eye caused her breathing to hitch. "I'll have to get right on that. Immediately after Minerva officially takes over the office. Until then, this," he squeezed her tighter, "cannot happen. But rest assured, I'll be counting the days."

"So will I."


	20. Sinecure

Sinecure

SIN-i-kyoo-r | noun

1: An office or position requiring little or no work, especially one yielding profitable returns

This was shaping up to be one of the most awkward dates that she had ever experienced, and she had once been on a date with Dennis Creevey at Madam Puddifoot's. She stared across the table at Severus, who seemed to be stoically ignoring his date in favor of glaring daggers at hers. She refrained from rolling her eyes at him and swore that she wouldn't use this as an 'I told you so' at home tonight.

"I can't help but say again how lovely you look tonight, Hermione," Lucius purred into her ear. She blushed and smiled, turning to meet his eyes. Grey steel glittered warmly back at her.

"Thank you, Lucius. And thank you for inviting me out tonight. I'm having a wonderful time."

He pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "It is my pleasure, my dear. Let us thank Severus and Maria for agreeing to accompany us this evening. They have been such pleasant company, have they not?"

The woman in question smiled brightly while Severus merely rolled his eyes at his friend. "Indeed, Lucius, you did a wonderful job of setting us up."

Hermione bit her lip to keep from grinning at him. She knew fully well the kind of ranting that would be had at home tonight. Lucius's bits would likely be threatened for daring to lay hands on her. She turned to press a kiss to the senior Malfoy's cheek. "Should we dance?"

The restaurant in which Lucius was treating them all – and which he likely owned, but she wasn't about to ask – featured a lovely little dance floor. The string quartet on the stage was playing a slow number and, while she knew she shouldn't, she couldn't help but enjoy the look on Severus's face when Lucius stood from his chair and offered his hand to her with a bow.

He led her to the floor and gathered her in his arms, moving them smoothly into a waltz. The feel of his hands on her was foreign but she smiled anyway and pulled closer to him. His own smile answered her.

"You know, Hermione, when Narcissa died, I never imagined that one day-"

She blushed and opened her mouth to interrupt him. She couldn't let him start to confess. It would be wrong of her to lead her on in such a manner. He silenced her with only a raised brow.

"I never imagined that one day it would allow me to play with Severus in such a spectacular manner," he continued. "Partly because I never imagined that Severus would be stupid enough to cover up a relationship with such a stunning young woman as yourself."

It was lucky that Lucius was such an accomplished dancer because his leading was all that kept her moving as she stared at him blankly.

"Oh, come now, did you think that I hadn't noticed him glowering at me all evening?"

"Did you know before tonight?"

A smile split his face. "With all due respect, Hermione, while you are quite a catch, you aren't quite my type."

She gaped at him in a manner that was quite unbecoming, she was sure. "So this was all a ruse?"

He inclined his head gracefully. "If you will. Perhaps the man will do something stupid and blow the secret. Shall we push him? Perhaps we'll locate his limits."

She bit her lip. She had been trying to convince Severus for weeks that they didn't need to hide their relationship for her benefit, which he insisted was the reasoning. He worried that he would sully her reputation. Lucius was offering her a choice opportunity. "What did you have in mind?"

oOo

What in Merlin's name was she _doing_? When he had agreed to this, albeit reluctantly, he hadn't expected _this_. Lucius was flirting with his woman and she was flirting back. Aggressively. She laughed at his joke – a bad one – and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth, only barely skirting her lips. His eyes narrowed.

"I need a drink," he ground out, pushing back roughly from the table and heading toward the bar, his back stiff.

He knew why she was doing this. She thought that if she could push far enough, he would break. "Shot of whisky," he growled to the bartender. He was annoyed and, if he were being honest with himself, he was jealous, but she would have to push harder than that. He didn't think that she would do it.

"I'm willing to be seen with Lucius Malfoy laughing and having a good time," she said from behind him.

He mumbled his thanks to the barkeep and threw back his shot with a grimace. "Lucius Malfoy is, for some godsforsaken reason, better liked than I am. Hell, he owns this place and three others just like it. You'd be better off linked to him."

She huffed. "Is that what you want?"

Frowning down at the empty glass in front of him, he slowly shook his head.

"But you don't want me linked to you."

He groaned, turning on the bar stool. "I would love to have your name linked with mine, Hermione. I don't want your name linked to what my name represents to most of the wizarding world. You might be denied opportunities because of your association with me."

She rolled her eyes. They had been over this before. If such an opportunity was denied to her because of an association with Severus Snape, then it wasn't an opportunity that she would have wanted in the first place. "Fine then."

He watched her as she made her way back to the table, watching her rear appreciatively. His date – Mary? – was throwing glances his way, but he couldn't bring himself to care because Hermione had just whispered something in Lucius's ear. Whatever that something was, it made a slow, almost predatory smile spread across the man's lips.

"Another."

oOo

Lucius really did not want to have to do this. He was already in a serious relationship, though he had been keeping it secret for an entirely different reason than Severus. Severus was his best friend. But the man _had_ to get his head out of his ass. He held the door for Hermione, then allowed Severus to do the same for Maria.

His timing could not have been better. When Severus looked up, Lucius had Hermione in his arms and his tongue down her throat. _Bingo_ , he thought as he heard the wordless roar just a fraction of a second before the young woman was ripped from him. Severus had his wand pressed to Lucius's throat before he could blink.

"Keep your fucking hands off of her," he snarled.

Far from being intimidated, Lucius smiled at his friend. "Ah, have we finally found the limits?" He glanced around the livid man. "Hermione, dear, didn't I tell you?"

She laid a hand on her beau's arm. "Let's go home?"

The anger did not fade from his face and, frankly, Lucius doubted if the man would calm down before he'd had a good shag or two. Perhaps he could pop by in a day or two and see whether he was forgiven. For now, however, he simply watched the two lovers blink out of sight and took the poor, bewildered Maria by the arm.

"I must offer my deepest apologies that you were caught up in what happened here tonight. I hope that you will forgive me." He paused, helping the woman into her coat. "Do offer your father my most sincere regards."

Lucius intended to do the same in person the next time he saw him.

 **A/N: I know the word didn't have a whole lot to do with the chapter today but I couldn't help but think of Lucius Malfoy in regards to one who works very little for a lot of financial gain. Today's my birthday so I think I deserve reviews ;)**


	21. Kobold

Kobold

KOH-bold | noun

1: a spirit or goblin, often mischievous, that haunts houses

"I've got a poltergeist," Hermione announced as she stepped through his fireplace in a whirl of green flames.

Her arrival was routine. On a normal night, she would have shown up an hour ago and he would have scooted to the proper end of the couch to give her space without so much as looking up from his reading. Her pronouncement, however, was not routine. He carefully marked his place in the book and set it on the coffee table. She plopped herself on the couch beside him, not waiting for him to move over.

Severus kissed the top of her head in greeting before quirking an eyebrow at her. "A poltergeist?"

She nodded, leaning into his side with a deep sigh. "I've just spent two hours trying to convince him that my house is not of as much entertainment value as he thinks. He respectfully disagrees."

He snorted. "Am I to assume that respectful disagreement from a poltergeist is more along the lines of throwing around your furniture?"

She groaned and buried her head against him. "Want to help me with an exorcism? We may have to confund the priest, but I think it would be worth it."

"Exorcisms are for demons."

"Feels like a fucking demon to me," she muttered. She sighed, shaking out her hair, which was a mess. He loved seeing it this way, despite the circumstance. It was wild, like her. "My house is a disaster. And I thought Peeves was bad."

"Peeves _is_ bad," Severus said, ever one for being contrary. "He's just got a lot more area and many, many more victims to choose from. If you dropped him into your home, he would likely be infinitely worse than the one you've got."

Hermione sighed. "So how do I get rid of a poltergeist?"

"You ask very nicely," he answered somberly.

"What? Isn't there a ritual or something I can do? Wave my wand, say a few words in Latin, burn something?" They were _magic_. Of _course_ there was a way to scare away a simple poltergeist!

"He just showed up out of nowhere?"

She hesitated, and he looked down to see the shadow of a blush staining her cheeks. "I may have been browsing a book that I found in Knockturn Alley."

He chuckled despite his exasperation. "Of course you were. What book was it?"

" _Occupy the Occult_ ," she muttered.

"And you were surprised to find a poltergeist trapped inside?" She could feel the vibration of his laughter along the length of her body.

"Shut up, you. Now how do I get rid of him?  
"I've already told you. You ask him nicely and hope he's in an agreeable mood." Poltergeists very rarely were. "All that ridiculous pomp and circumstance is just flashiness they use for the Muggle movies."

"Ugh, where are the Winchesters when you need them?" she moaned.

"The who?" he asked, brows furrowed.

She shook her head, muttering to herself. "Well fine then. I guess I'll be moving house since my poltergeist has apparently decided that my kitchen is his playground and the bedroom should be downstairs. My bed is in pieces."

He grinned wolfishly, though she wouldn't see it, situated as she was with her head against his arm. "You're always free to use mine."

She elbowed him in the side. "Be serious."

"Can't," he growled. "The bastard is dead."

"Oh my god, Severus," she groaned, rolling her eyes. She had long given up chastising him for such things. Somewhere through the years she'd grown up and the hero worship of Harry's godfather had faded, and she had been able to see the man for what he was. While he had had many good qualities, the man had been a bully. A violent one.

"I am, however, being sincere," he said, voice earnest. "You can stay here as long as you need. Or want."

She looked up at him and saw the honesty in his eyes. "And if I want to stay forever?"

He smiled crookedly. "Then stay forever."

She grinned. "You're going to have to help me get my things. I'm afraid it may be a two-person job. One for gathering, one for distracting."

"Maybe I'll be able to talk him out of your house," Severus remarked.

She rolled her eyes again. "If anyone can bully a poltergeist into abandoning its post, it would be you."


	22. Frugivorous

**A/N: I know this is probably spoilers, but I felt that I should mention that there is miscarriage ahead. I know there are many women (and some men) who struggle with this and I wanted to give advance warning for those sensitive to such things.**

Frugivorous

froo-JIV-er-us s | adjective

1: fruit-eating, as certain bats

The apples were really coming along this year. Beside them, the oranges, too, were ripening nicely. She plucked a particularly large one from the tree and brought it to her face, inhaling its scent deeply through the peel. The wind rustled through her beloved trees and touched her face gently. It was a welcome reprieve from the heat of the summer, and she sighed contentedly.

 _Ten years previous_

 _Severus led her carefully into the back garden, her infectious smile causing one to cross his lips as well. There was a blindfold over her eyes and she laughed as he gave her directions through her familiar territory._

 _"Severus," she admonished with a laugh, "I planted everything here. I placed every rock, I'm friends with every bug."_

 _"But if you trip and fall on your arse, it'll be my fault, and you know it."_

 _She grinned. "What a smart man you are."_

 _"Nearly there," he assured her._

 _"I would imagine," she agreed. "We're nearly to the end of the yard."_

 _He stopped her a few paces later and moved behind her. His hands went to her shoulders while he whispered in her ear. "There are so many things that I can't give you," he murmured, "but this I can do. Happy anniversary, love."_

 _He pulled her blindfold and smiled at her gasp of surprise. Two trees had taken root in her beloved garden. "Apples and oranges," she said through her smile. "You smart ass. I love them."_

 _"You love me," he whispered into her ear, pulling her back against him._

 _"I do," she agreed, "but stop distracting me. I'm looking at your spellwork."_

 _"Ah, yes. I'm proud of that, you know. They're climate bubbles. Took quite a bit of research to get that right. They'll change seasons relative to the native climate of the tree, so you should get perfect fruit every year regardless of the weather here."_

 _"I love them," she repeated. "And you. Merlin, I love you. Thank you for my trees."_

She turned her back on the orange tree and pressed her back against the trunk. Sliding down the trunk, she hit the ground and stretched her legs out in front of her, enjoying the shade of the tree. Her attention turned to the orange in her hand. She began to peel it slowly.

 _Ten years, six months previous_

 _"I'm so sorry, Mister and Missus Snape," said the healer, and Hermione felt her world crumbling._

 _She turned to bury her face in her husband's chest, tears already springing to her eyes. He stroked her hair silently, but she could feel the unsteadiness in his hand._

 _"We'll give you a potion to induce labor and evacuate the uterus," she said gently._

 _Hermione knew the procedure. She'd done it before. Twice before. This was the third baby that she had lost. The third child that was half her and half Severus that had died inside of her. They had agreed that if they lost this child they would stop trying. They were weary. It was heartbreaking, and she could take no more of it. The ache of their lost children was constantly with her. She could see that it was wearing on him as well. It was in his eyes when he looked at her across a room. She could see it in the set of his shoulders when he thought that she wasn't watching._

 _She was finished dreaming of a family with the man that she loved._

A dribble of juice ran down her chin, and she sighed with pleasure at the sharp taste of the orange. Perfect fruit every year, as promised. She adored her trees.

 _Twelve years previous_

 _She smiled, looking around the living room filled with boxes. He had bought them a_ house _. With a whole yard for a garden, just for her. She had been a bit upset when she'd found out that he'd done such a thing without consulting her on it, but after she'd seen the place… She loved every inch of it. There was a large, concrete basement for his potions lab. The living spaces were on one level, which they both preferred. Sometimes the old aches from the war made stairs difficult for both of them. The master bathroom had a large shower with a shower head on each side – ideal for double showers, which had made her smirk when she'd seen it. There was a smaller bedroom not far from the master, which she had visions of fixing up with a crib. She felt a pang go through her at the thought, but she pushed it aside. They would try again. There would be a pitter patter of tiny feet on the gorgeous hardwood._

 _"The water's on," he announced, stepping out of the doorway from the kitchen._

 _She beamed at him. "Should we break in that shower, then?"_

 _He raised an eyebrow and sauntered toward her. "Why, Missus Snape, are you hitting on me?"_

 _"Not at all," she argued as she melted into his arms. "I'm propositioning you. It's very different, you know."_

 _He laughed, and she smiled. Thank Merlin that she had him._

She studied the sky between the branches while she chewed on the last piece of her orange. It was remarkably good weather today. It was breezy but not overly so, and the sun was finally out. It had rained for nearly a week straight, which had put her out terribly, as it had kept her inside away from her garden. Given another week or so, she would have a load of weeding to do, but for now they were still thinking only about growing. Funny how they did that – shot up like, well, weeds.

 _Twelve years, six months previous_

 _She slid the small, wrapped package across their small kitchen table. He raised an eyebrow at her._

 _"What's this?"_

 _She rolled her eyes. "It's a present. It isn't as though I'm going to tell you what's inside, is it?"_

 _"It isn't my birthday or a holiday that I know of. I haven't forgotten an anniversary, have I?"_

 _"Just open it," she insisted._

 _Carefully, he did as she requested, and it was all she could do to keep from rolling her eyes again as he slowly peeled the tape and unwrapped the paper, keeping it all completely intact. The small cardboard box stared up at him and she bit her lip, smiling broadly as he lifted the lid. The article looked so small in his fingers as he lifted it from the box. She saw the moment he read the words on the front._

 _Daddy's Little Patronus_

 _His eyes went wide, and he clutched the little onesie in his hand. "Hermione?" he croaked._

 _"I'm pregnant," she said, suddenly nervous._

 _"You're pregnant," he repeated._

 _She nodded._

 _She jumped as his chair slid loudly across the floor, scraping against the stone. He yanked her up from her chair and pulled her into a crushing hug. She laughed breathlessly._

 _"You're pleased, then?"_

 _He nodded against her hair. "Merlin, yes. Hermione, we're going to be_ parents _." He pulled back from her and placed one hand against her belly, staring at it in awe. "Baby Snape."_

She stared up at her apple tree, contemplating a fruit from its branches as well. She'd gotten used to the mixed taste of apples and oranges through the years and had even come to enjoy it. Disinclined as she was to get to her feet, she waved her hand at the apple that she desired and watched it descend slowly toward her.

 _Thirteen years previous_

 _"I love you," he whispered into her hair._

 _She had been falling asleep. Perhaps he thought that she was asleep already. But that had her wide awake. She pulled back from him to gaze into his face._

 _"What?" she asked, breathless._

 _She thought that she could detect a blush staining his cheeks, but it was difficult to tell in the darkness. "Nothing," he said lowly._

 _"No," she said firmly. "No, I heard what you said. I need you to say it again. To my face."_

 _"Hermione, I-" he began to protest._

 _"No, Severus. I need you to tell me, please."_

 _He swallowed and met her eyes. "I love you."_

 _She blinked twice before a slow smile spread across her face. "You love me," she repeated in wonder._

 _"I do." His fingers trailed down her bare arm, elbow to wrist and back again._

 _If they hadn't just finished a vigorous round of sex, she would have jumped him right then and there. As it was, she was too exhausted, and she doubted if he could go again so soon._

 _"I love you too, you know," she said matter-of-factly._

 _His fingers froze in their tracks. "You do?"_

 _She nodded. "I do." She laughed at the expression on his face. "I'm just as surprised as you are. I didn't expect to, but here we are."_

The apple was crisp and sweet. It was at odds with the sharper flavor of the orange that lingered on her tongue, but she enjoyed the conflict. Her flowers were blooming well. Their season was coming to an end, but they didn't seem to know yet. She was glad that they hadn't been too badly damaged by all the rain.

 _Thirteen years, four months previous_

 _Hermione stood at the enchanted window in their kitchen tending to her small potted herbs. She insisted that she wanted a garden one day – a big one with lots of flowers. She hated those gardens that only contained practical plants. Practicality had a purpose, of course, but she loved flowers. She intended to have a whole pile of them._

 _Severus watched her tending her plants and felt a squirming ache deep in his belly. Nearly a year they had been married now, and things seemed to be improving. They weren't in love. He didn't think that would ever be the case, but at least she no longer hated him. She didn't cringe at the sight of the Dark Mark tattooed onto his arm anymore. She called him by his given name._

 _She looked up at him and gave a small smile, which he allowed himself to reciprocate. He was sure it probably looked a bit forced, but it was the best that he could do._

 _"Shouldn't you be leaving soon?" she asked, crossing the room to stand beside him in the doorway._

 _It was true, he had classes to teach. Thank Merlin it would be his final year at Hogwarts. He didn't think that he could stand the memories the place invoked for another season. He nodded. "I was just coming to tell you that I'm going and to wish you a good day." He was making effort. That was also new._

 _She smiled up at him and he swore that it brightened the dark, dungeon kitchen a few degrees. A real smile twitched at the corner of his mouth in answer._

 _"You, too."_

 _He swung around, facing her midway through his rotation, and dropped a kiss to her lips. And froze, his hands at his sides. Blinking in surprise, he pulled back quickly from her. She, too, looked shocked._

 _"Sorry," he murmured. "I don't know why I did that."_

 _She didn't say anything as she stared after his retreating form._

She finished the last of her fruit and banished the core to her compost pile in a magically smell-proofed corner of the yard. It turned itself twice per week. She got to her feet and wandered along the stone path through her flowers. The vegetable patch was on the opposite side of the garden. Because of the rain, she hadn't been out to visit in a few days, but she guessed that her peas were likely ready for harvest. At her request, Severus had placed his climate bubble around the vegetables as well. It was an amazing spell, really. Between her top-quality compost and the perfectly controlled weather for each plant, her garden vegetables were becoming famous among friends and family.

 _Thirteen years, six months previous_

 _They ate breakfast in silence. It wasn't a stony silence, at least, though no one would call it a comfortable one. He was still Snape to her, and she remained Granger, though it had been several months since she had ceased being a Granger. He couldn't bring himself to think of her with his last name. Even in bed, she called him Snape._

 _The rest… Well, the sex was mind-blowing. At least they were good at that. By law, they were required at least ten times per month, though the government cared little about the spacing. Every month between the first day and the last day, they must copulate on at least ten separate occasions. Whether they did it twice a week or all in one day, no one gave a flying fuck. This was required until they produced a child._

 _They had quickly found that it wasn't an issue. In fact, every month thus far, they had exceeded the requirement. She held nothing back from him in bed. She told him exactly what she wanted and wasn't shy in trying to reach for it. It made things easier. They weren't friends. They had only just begun to tolerate each other. But at least they were having hell of good sex._

"Hermione?" called Severus from the doorway.

"In the vegetables," she answered, breaking a pea pod from the plant and dropping it into her harvest bag. She smiled at him when he moved into view. "How was Diagon Alley today?"

"Chaotic," he sighed. "Chock full of children doing their school shopping."

Her smile turned wistful, and he reached over the vegetable plants to squeeze her hand. "I got the book you asked for."

"Which one?" she asked playfully. She had a running list on the fridge in the kitchen.

He rolled his eyes and dropped her hand to reach into his pocket to retrieve the magically shrunken book between his thumb and forefinger. He returned the book to its normal size and passed it across to her.

 _Orion, His Belt, and Your Onions_

"I still call hogwash on the whole thing," he declared. "There is no way that the visibility of constellations has any bearing on the growth of your vegetables."

"Hush," she chastised. "It's probably a load of shite, but what if it isn't?"

"Now you'll be in the know," he said solemnly.

 _Fourteen years previous_

 _Hermione sat in his office, a scowl pressed firmly onto her lips. "This is bullshit," she growled. "They can't force people to get married."_

 _He raised one brow. "Of course they can't. That's why they've given us the option of being married or being muggles."_

 _"Not helping." She huffed. "Of all the people they could have matched me to."_

 _"Yes," he drawled. "Of all the people. Really, Miss Granger, I'm hardly thrilled at the thought of an eternity listening to your chatter."_

 _Apples and oranges. That's how Minerva had described the pairing. She'd shaken her head and wondered what on earth the new department had been thinking when they'd put the two of them together. She'd been quite vocal about it to both of them, but then, they hardly had a choice in the matter._

 _"I'll have to live here at the castle, won't I?" She used to love this place, but now it just reminded her of death. She could see Fred's crushed body on the seventh floor. Colin Creevey's body lay in the Great Hall along with Remus and Tonks._

 _He nodded. "As a teacher, I am required to live in the castle and by law, you will be required to live with me."_

 _"Perfect," she grumbled. "You'll retire in, what, ten years?"_

 _Lovely, a jab at his age. Mature. He sighed, rubbing his temples. Merlin, this woman would be the death of him._


	23. Spagyric

Spagyric

spuh-JEER-ik | adjective

1: pertaining to or resembling alchemy; alchemic

"So, Master Snape, tell me about your process."

Severus considered the woman on the opposite side of his desk. Dark hair, seemingly fixed up in a hurry. There was a pencil stuck through her high bun. Muggleborn, he supposed. Her attire was thoroughly professional. Button-down shirt. Pencil skirt. Professional, if uncomfortable. Her eyes were light, which was an unusual contrast to her dark hair. Blue with just a glint of silver. He could see the interested spark there.

He leaned forward in his chair, placing his elbows on his desk. His hands clasped in front of him. "The idea came in a dream," he admitted. "Unoriginal, I am sure, but there you have it. Obviously, my subconscious was unable to connect all of the pieces, but with a large amount of trial and error, I managed to succeed."

"What can you tell me about the actual procedure?" she asked, leaning forward as well. The spark in her eye brightened to a gleam. He focused on that rather than the view she was presenting him down her blouse. He wondered if she was aware that she was doing so.

"Miss Wiser," he admonished, allowing one corner of his mouth to twitch upward, "are you asking me to reveal my secrets?"

She met his smile with a wide one of her own. "Perhaps just the one."

One of his eyebrows quirked upward. "Many others have tried and failed. I intend to take my procedure to the grave."

"Oh, come now, surely you don't intend to let that die with you? You've succeeded in turning ordinary rock into gold. Wizards have been trying and failing for thousands of years and yet you alone have managed to succeed. You'll tell no one how you do it?"

He gave the woman an amused smirk. "Really, how are we sure that I'm the only one in history who has managed? Perhaps others have managed the same and have merely let it die with them as well. Let us not forget that Nicolas Flamel created an object with the capacity to do it."

The reporter rolled her eyes. Now that was unprofessional.

"In any case, I am not the only living person who has the knowledge."

She perked up. "No?"

"No," he agreed. "For a brief time during my research, I had an apprentice. She also knows the procedure." He cut off the woman as her mouth opened. "She has been appropriately sworn to secrecy."

"Who was this apprentice?" she asked distractedly, scribbling furiously on her notepad.

It was public record. No point withholding information that she could easily get her hands on in under an hour anyway. "Hermione Granger."

The scratching of the quill paused, then Miss Wiser pushed onward. "She was only briefly your apprentice, you say?"

Severus nodded. "We found it too difficult to work together, and so, after pushing through for several months, she was reassigned to another potions master. One better suited to teach her."

"Why was it difficult to work together?"

He raised a brow again at the woman. "Miss Wiser, while you never had the pleasure of attending one of my classes at Hogwarts, I am quite sure that you have heard tales from coworkers. I am not a pleasant or easy man to get along with, and Hermione Granger is no pushover herself. There was simply too much history between us to promote a healthy working relationship. Now, I do believe that my discovery was the main focus of this interview, was it not?" He did not wish to discuss Hermione Granger with the woman. He hated that he had had to reassign his apprentice. It was equal to failure in his eyes. He had failed as a teacher because of personal feelings. Restraint was not an exercise at which he had ever excelled.

"Of course." She scratched out a few more words on her notepad. "Has your success impacted your life in other ways?" The words were said mildly, but he caught the suggestive cant to her smile.

"In what ways do you mean?" he asked innocently.

Her teeth glistened at him when her smile widened. "Has it affected your sex life, Master Snape? Do you find women more likely to approach you?"

He chuckled and sat back in his chair. "Miss Wiser, nearly every woman in Great Britain under the age of thirty was a student of mine at one point or another."

"That does not answer my question," she said lightly.

"Yes," he admitted with a sigh. "Women do approach me with much more frequency. It would seem that excessive wealth makes one's other failings magically overlookable."

"Do you often take them up on their offers?"

His eyes narrowed. "I do not." This was certainly not a professional line of questioning. The woman was supposed to be a reporter for the Prophet, not some gossip rag magazine.

The reporter set her notepad to the side on the empty chair beside her. "I was never your student, Master Snape."

It seemed that his eyebrow was doing overtime in this interview, as it once again rose, this time in disbelief. "Surely you are not coming on to me during an interview." He frowned. The pencil skirt was clearly a ruse.

"Come now, we have no history. It's a clean slate. Nothing but new memories. It can't be easy to be alone your whole life."

"You have been misinformed, madam. I have a live-in, long-term love interest, and she is strictly off limits, as it is not your business. If you wouldn't mind, I would very much like to get this interview back on track. Sit up straight – it isn't becoming to flash your breasts at interviewees – and please do keep your questions on target. My research."

Jessica Wiser blushed a deep red that flushed all the way down to the tops of her breasts – a fact which Severus tried and failed not to notice. He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and hoped that the rest of the interview would be quick.

oOo

Severus apparated into the living room of his home to find his live-in, long-term love interest seated on the couch, a book predictably in her hands. A tome, really. It was a textbook, easily a thousand pages in length, on potions ingredients. Only Hermione Granger could find such a book an interesting read. She would likely retain seventy percent of what she read. He felt a flash of jealousy, but he pushed it aside. It was an old conversation between them.

"How was the interview?" she asked without looking up.

He made a strangled growl in response.

She snorted. "It can't have been that bad." She looked up at the frown across his face.

"The reporter tried to pick me up mid-interview," he said stiffly, moving to drop onto the couch beside her.

She laughed and marked her place in the textbook, setting it on the coffee table. "I can't say that I blame her."

"There is something wrong in your head," he mumbled, picking up one arm to accommodate her as she snuggled into his side.

"Probably," she agreed, "but I hardly see you complaining about it."

He grunted. "Hermione, do you…" He paused, gathering his thoughts. "Do you ever regret transferring to Master Kords?"

He felt more than heard her laugh. "While I do miss having you as my teacher, Severus, it just wasn't working. We had sex all over that lab. We were nothing but distractions to each other." She looked up at him and winked. "She isn't nearly as much fun as you in the lab. All business."

Severus smirked. He would never forget the way that his heart had dropped into his toes when she had asked to be transferred to another master. He had thought that she was leaving him. He had kicked himself, of course, for getting attached. It had started as just sex – angry sex, at that. He'd been yelling at her for something or other and then he'd been kissing her, and she'd been kissing him back and then they were stripping each other. Then he'd been fucking her on a lab bench. There was an awkward moment afterward before he cleared his throat and shrugged his shoulders, and they never said a word about it. They never said a word about the next time either. Or the time after. They never said a word about any of their continued activities until the day she requested a reassignment.

After he had written out his letter to Master Kords requesting that she pick up the education of his apprentice, she had kissed him more gently than she ever had before and asked him for a real relationship, which he had hesitantly agreed to, sure that it would turn out to be a horrid mistake. Now, here they were nearly two years later. She would be finishing her apprenticeship next week. There would be a formal ceremony the following Thursday at noon. For dinner Thursday evening, he had planned out a wonderful meal of all of her favorites – roasted duck, mashed potatoes with gravy, green beans, and for dessert, a strawberry custard that she particularly enjoyed. Afterward, he would be getting down on one knee for the first time in his life that was not at the business end of a wand.

"You turned her down, right?"

"No," he drawled, "I fucked her on the desk where I had you once or twice, with my assistant in the next room." He quirked a brow, looking down at her. He pressed a kiss to her hair. "Of course I said no, Hermione. You are more than enough for me to handle."

"Good," she said shortly. "I would have had to cut off your dick and rip off her boobs and burn them in a pile if you'd done that." She smiled sweetly at him. "Thank you for not making my day so messy."

He smirked. Merlin, he loved that fire in her.


	24. Sub rosa

Sub rosa

suhb ROH-zuh| adverb

1: confidentially; secretly; privately

Minerva McGonagall knew a secret. It was one of those secrets that was a shock to discover, but once it was known, you wondered why it was such a shock, because it actually made sense in a strange kind of way. It wasn't a huge secret, life-changing or perilous. At least, not for her. She supposed it must be for the two of them.

The first time she had come upon them in the second-floor corridor behind the statue of Gwen the Green-faced, she had thought they were students. After Merlin only knew how many years, she was well acquainted with the sound of lips on lips and the muffled whimpers and groans of a couple sneaking around after hours. She well knew that any student over fourth year should be fully capable of casting a silencing charm, and yet it seemed that in the heat of the moment, it was forgotten nearly every time. The distinctive sounds ceased abruptly when the headmistress cleared her throat and informed the couple that they had exactly sixty seconds to make themselves decent and vacate their alcove.

When after a few seconds, the form of Professor Severus Snape had emerged from behind the statue, she nearly fainted from shock. He said nothing, his face expressionless, obviously aware that he had been caught red-handed. Upon recovering herself, she had squawked, "Severus Snape, there had better not be a student behind that statue!"

He had crossed his arms over his chest and quirked an eyebrow at her. "Why, yes, Minerva. After all these years, I have decided to break every rule of this school and of common decency by cavorting with a student because my passion was just too strong to contain." His voice dripped sarcasm like honey.

There was a snorting laugh from his partner in crime. "It's just me, Minerva."

The old headmistress had blinked owlishly at her potions master. "Professor Granger?"

The woman in question had stepped around the statue, poking at her disheveled hair. "We do apologize, Minerva. Had we known you were patrolling tonight, well, we would have actually made it back to my rooms. I assure you that we do not frequently cavort in the halls."

"I should hope not!" Minerva had spluttered. "Imagine if you were caught by a student out of bed."

"They would very much regret their decision to wander," Severus had drawled menacingly.

Minerva had stared between the two of them, her mind still racing from the discovery. She noted the ease with which Hermione Granger, her history of magic professor of three years now, leaned into Severus's side. His posture, in turn, was loose and familiar. "How long has this been going on?"

Hermione had squinted at Severus, clearly calculating. "A year? And a few months maybe."

"One year, three months, and seventeen days," he had answered, staring Minerva in the eye.

Professor Granger snorted again then. "He keeps expecting something to go terribly wrong, and so he keeps a running tally of exactly how many days he has 'wasted his precious time' with me."

Minerva herself had looked into the blazing eyes of the man she had known for more than thirty years and she had known with conviction that that was most certainly _not_ the reason that he knew exactly how many days he had been running about with Hermione Granger. Minerva had smiled then. "See that you contain your activities to private spaces, then." She had turned on her heel to continue her after-hour patrol.

"Minerva," Hermione's voice had reached after her. "We aren't telling anyone. Please keep it to yourself."

That was more than a year ago, and Minerva had never found them in a dark alcove again. She observed them at mealtimes and staff meetings – the only times she really saw the two of them together – and besides the fact that Severus looked healthier than he ever had before and ate more than he previously had, there wasn't much to see. While they sometimes sat beside each other at staff meetings, they showed no inclination toward one another aside from an ease with the closeness of their bodies. Where other staff members would shy away from Severus's leg pressing against theirs on the squished staff room couch, Hermione actively seemed indifferent. She almost came to believe that she had dreamed the entire encounter. Until one particular staff meeting on September 20th, five years after Hermione Granger had begun teaching at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Hermione, what's that on your hand?" squealed Septima, snatching the hand in question.

Young Professor Granger blushed. "It was my birthday yesterday. My, er, boyfriend proposed. Finally."

" _Boyfriend_?" squeaked Filius.

Minerva smiled behind her hand, her gaze wandering to Severus, who had entered the staffroom only a moment ago. He was leaning against the wall beside the door, face expressionless, but eyes aglow. Perhaps she hadn't dreamed the encounter after all. He did not seem inclined to sit. Keeping close to the escape route, perhaps.

Septima had continued to coo over the ring on the hand of her formerly favorite student. "How long have you had a boyfriend? I didn't even know you were seeing anyone!" The two had formed a loose friendship over the years that Hermione had been teaching.

Hermione had the good grace to look embarrassed. "Three years? We were keeping it a secret."

Severus cleared his throat and pushed himself off the wall. "Three years, one month, and three days," he said lowly, stalking across the room to her. He put a hand on her waist and pulled her toward him. She followed bonelessly, her face full of surprise. "Today would be three years, one month, and four days, my dear, but we are no longer dating. Today, we have been engaged for one day."

The staffroom was so quiet Minerva could have heard a pin drop. Hagrid burst into tears on the couch began to blubber.

"Will you get married here at Hogwarts?" Septima blurted. "We haven't had a wedding in, what… twenty years?"

"We haven't really talked about it…" Hermione looked up into the face of her fiancé. Minerva held her breath. "Yes, of course we'll get married here."

Hagrid blew his nose loudly into an oversized handkerchief. "I'm j-jes s-so happy for yeh both," he bawled. "Yeh d-deserve each other." He dissolved into tears again.

The couple seemed surprised by the lack of protest that they heard. It seemed that no one really cared that he was an ex-Death Eater or that she was nineteen years younger than he. Minerva snorted. She could have predicted that. After all, as she pointed out, there was really no one else who would be able to keep up with Hermione. And Severus would need a woman as pigheaded as he was.

This time at staff meeting, when they sat beside each other on the couch, Hermione was curled into his side, and Severus's hand was wrapped around hers. Minerva couldn't help but notice that his thumb continually ran over her ring and a small, unconscious smile lifted the corners of his lips.


	25. Bravura

Bravura

bruh-VYOO R-uh, -VOO R-uh | noun

2: an act of daring; brilliant performance

No one knew why he had done it. He'd been a traitor, a turncoat. He'd killed their leader, the venerable Albus Dumbledore. He'd tortured _children_. Before, mentally, then when he was allowed free reign, physically. He had personally held children under the _cruciatus_. He had sneered at their pain. He was an awful example of humanity. He was almost universally hated in the wizarding community.

And yet.

Hermione stood over the casket at a funeral that no one knew why they were holding, for a man that no one loved, and stared down into the cold, still face of the man who had saved her life. She knew no better than anyone else why he had done it. The man had despised her in life. Why he had chosen to trade his for hers, she hadn't a clue. Perhaps he was just tired of his life and the curse barreling toward her chest had proven a convenient end. She certainly knew that it would not have been an instinctive act for him to throw a person out of harm's way.

And yet.

In her first year, he had tried, in his way, to protect them. It hadn't been his fault that the lot of nosy first-years did not find ignorance to be bliss. In her third year, he had stepped in front of a _werewolf_ to protect them, despite the fear that she could feel rolling off of him in waves. Despite the fact that he had treated them all, frankly, like shit during their school years, she had been shocked when his loyalties had been revealed for what they were. She had always truly believed in his goodness at heart. He was an ass, sure, but did that really make him a bad guy? In the end, he had been there right when she had needed him.

She hadn't even known that he was near her. She was too engrossed in her own battle with Rowle to notice him. Rowle wasn't a big man, but Merlin, did he pack a punch. She was on the very tips of her toes just keeping up with him, completely unable to get a hit in of her own. He barked a quick _bombarda_ , which she deflected, flinching only slightly when it exploded the wall beside her, and then followed it up with a quick-moving jet of green that she recognized instantly. She hadn't ever given much consideration to those muggle movie moments where time slowed down when you saw your death approaching. But that's exactly what happened.

Her eyes went wide. Her mouth formed words that, looking back now, she couldn't remember precisely, but could probably guess. Then he was there. He sent his own flash of green at her attacker while he was in motion. His body collided with hers and she met his gaze as she sailed backwards to the floor. His eyes seemed almost empty – she didn't see any emotion at all. She saw the exact moment that the curse hit him. The light left his black, empty eyes. He crumpled to the floor. Rowle followed him down a split second later. She had wanted to take a moment to just sit there on the floor and stare at his body in shock. She hadn't had a moment. The battle raged on around her and she had to rejoin it.

It had been shortly after that that Voldemort had announced that he would spare the lives of all those present if Harry were to surrender himself. Hermione had rushed to find him, to stop him, but it had been too late. In the end, Voldemort had fallen, Harry was miraculously revived, and the battle had been suddenly over.

And no one knew why he'd done it. The Death Eaters that had been rounded up all swore that he was loyal through and through and spoke of the atrocities that he had committed. Hermione looked down at the empty body and tried to picture him doing half of the things that they had spoken of. Her imagination failed her, and for that she was thankful. She didn't want to think of all the lives he had taken. He had saved _hers_. _But why?_

She would likely never know. How would she possibly ever know? The only person on God's green Earth who could have answered the question was lying in a coffin before her. It was a question that she knew would haunt her for the rest of her life. Thirty years later, lying in bed unable to fall asleep, it would float across her mind like an itch that she would never, ever be able to scratch.

She was almost angry with him for having done it. What if he truly was the scum of the earth? What if he had had no redeeming qualities at all and it had all just been an act when she was young? She would still owe him her life nonetheless. A cold-blooded killer.

What if everything that the Death Eaters had seen was the act? What if he had been on their side all along? She would never be able to thank him.

And she would never know which was the truth. Perhaps it wasn't so black and white. Maybe the truth was somewhere in the middle. _She would never know._ She wanted to cry. She wanted to cry for the possibility of what he might have been. It was silly, she knew. He could have been everything that Rodolphus Lestrange claimed that he was and more. She wouldn't want to have cried for him, then.

But if he truly were good and no one cried for him, it would be tragic.

It didn't matter anyway. Hermione didn't think that she could cry any more tears. She was all cried out. It had been a hellish week of funeral after funeral for people who had died much too young. There was hardly anyone at this one, and she couldn't say that she was surprised. She didn't really even know why she was here.

But she stared down into the coffin anyway and traced the lines of his face with her eyes. This was the most peaceful she had ever seen him. It saddened her. That only death brought him such tranquility. She doubted the man had known peace even in slumber.

She decided that she would believe he was good. She didn't know why he had done it, why he had taken a killing curse for her. She didn't have the faintest clue as to his motivations in life. She didn't even know what he had wanted for himself. Did he have goals? Dreams? Aspirations? She had no clue.

She couldn't come up with a scenario in which he was the good guy. But she decided that she needed to believe that he was, or it would eat her away slowly over the days, months, years. Anyway, why would he have saved her if he wasn't?

Hermione realized that she had been at the casket for quite some time. Other funeral-goers were beginning to look at her strangely. The man had saved her life. She could stand for an uncomfortably long time staring at his dead face if she wanted to. At least she wasn't stroking his hair like she had seen others do at other funerals that week. She had no desire at all to touch him. At least there was that.

She would have liked to resolve to live her life to the fullest to honor his sacrifice, but to be frank, she doubted that he would have given a flying fuck one way or the other. But what did she know about him after all?

 **A/N: I'm aware that the scene with Snape trying to protect them from the werewolf only happened in the movie. I liked it, so I included it. Bite me.**

 **Why do you think he did it?**


	26. Garbology

Garbology

gahr-BOL-uh-jee | noun

1: the study of the material discarded by a society to learn what it reveals about social or cultural patterns

It had started as curiosity, really. Sirius Black had despised the man. Passionately. It seemed that a dislike of Severus Snape was nearly universal. Why? Over the course of her observation, the only persons who had seemed to speak kindly to him were Minerva and Poppy. She, of course, did her best to keep away in order to retain the integrity of her study. Some days that goal was impossible, butting heads as they did at staff meetings. Why he felt it was any business in the slightest how she taught her students was beyond her. So she favored a lighter hand? It wasn't as though she coddled them. She simply had no desire to draw all the shades of her defense classroom and play a slideshow of gruesome images depicting werewolves and their victims. Cough, cough. He always rolled his eyes when she brought that up.

Over the years since the end of the war, she had been gathering bits and pieces of knowledge about him. She'd never intentionally researched the man, but she'd observed enough to pick up little facts. He was softer now with the first-years than she remembered him being with them. They, of course, were not aware of this and thought he was the absolute worst. He still didn't eat much at mealtimes, but he always ate more than average when a pot roast was on. He loved chocolate – particularly Devil's food cake – savoring every bite and picking up every crumb with his fork when it was done. In the library, he favored a cushy armchair in the far eastern corner, hidden behind several walls of shelves. When he sat in it, his book tended to rest in his left hand, his right turning the pages before returning to his knee. She had once come upon him so absorbed in a muggle horror novel that he had had no idea she was there perusing the shelf beside him. She'd taken note of the title and author and smiled to herself. Of course Severus would be a fan of the king. Who wasn't?  
It was several years now since she had come to teach at the castle. What had once started as curiosity had gradually faded into something else. She actively cared for the man, if from afar. She had bribed the house elves to add pot roast onto the menu weekly. She asked them to provide a chocolate dessert of some kind every night – which they were only too happy to do. They had no desire for the hats or scarves that she had once tried to give them, but she had expanded her repertoire over the years and brought them small, crocheted animals from time to time. They oohed and ahhed over the critters and lined them along the shelves in the kitchens. She ensured that the small shelf in the staff lounge was well-stocked with his preferred reading.

She was engaged in just that one evening when she was interrupted. She was trying out a new author today, testing the waters there. She had quite enjoyed his writing style, but she was curious if Severus would also.

"Professor Granger," he drawled from the doorway. "Am I to presume that it is you who has been stocking such… horrifying works on our shelves lately?"

She blushed and turned, book in hand. "Indeed. I rather enjoy them myself and I wanted to share with those whom I presume also enjoy the genre." She raised an eyebrow at him.

A small smile quirked one corner of his mouth. "I do. I do not, however, believe that those such as Filius or Pomona enjoy finding titles such as 'Puppeteer of the Dead' on their staff room shelf."

Hermione brightened. "It was a good one, wasn't it?"

He snorted in response. "It was. My point, Professor, is that perhaps you should skip the middle man and present them directly to me, rather than subjecting the rest of the staff to them."

Her brows rose in surprise. "Alright then." She stretched her arm forward, presenting him with the book that she held. "I've just finished this one. I enjoyed it for the most part. I'd like to know what you think of it."

He moved further into the room to take the book from her hand, his fingers brushing hers just slightly as he did so. She fought to suppress the shivers that threatened to run through her at the sensation. She watched as he flipped the book over and read the blurb. After finishing, he nodded once and turned around with it, swiftly leaving the room.

He'd had the thing less than forty-eight hours when he marched into her office and flung it down on her desk. "Utter shite," he announced with a sneer.

She laughed, surprised to see him. "I see that you were also unhappy with the forced romance."

"It's a book about people running for their lives. _Why_ does it need to have a romance? She's the only female character, for god's sake. Does she _have_ to have a love interest? Is that a requirement? And I found the thread about the native ghosts saving the day a bit far-fetched, even for what was happening there."

Hermione shrugged. "Give the people what they want, I suppose. You and I are in the minority, I think." She wrinkled her nose at him. "Romance in a horror novel. Despicable. I see it didn't deter you from finishing the book, though."

He growled wordlessly and stormed out of her office.

She decided to try something different next. She knocked politely on his office door – a far cry from his marching – and dropped the book onto his desk. He eyed the cover with trepidation. 'The Cobra Event' stared up at him.

"It's one of my favorites," she informed him. "It isn't a horror, but it's a medical thriller."

He raised one brow at her. "A medical thriller? How exactly is medicine thrilling?"

She rolled her eyes. "Just read the book. I think you'll like it."

He did. When he returned it to her office, there was a new gleam in his eye. "Does this author have more?"

She nodded eagerly and beckoned for him to follow her into her sitting room. "They aren't all thrillers," she said, pointing out the section of her bookshelf dedicated just to him. "They're mostly non-fiction but they read like a novel."

"May I?" he asked, reaching toward the shelf.

She nodded again and he plucked one down. "You can take them all with you if you'd like. Just as long as I get them back. Sorry, but you'll have to buy your own copies when you fall in love with them," she told him with a smirk.

He'd left with the stack.

"Is this all true?" he demanded a week later, sitting beside her on the couch before staff meeting. He pushed the stack of books into her lap.

She nodded intently. "Terrifying, isn't it? Sometimes the truth is the scariest thing of all."

He said nothing, but there was a small frown on his lips throughout the meeting. They fell into a pattern over the next few months. He devoured her books and then came back for more. Thankfully, she was enough of a bookworm that he had not even come close yet to putting a dent in her supply.

"I need something new," he declared without preamble, dropping himself into the chair across from her desk.

"Where's my book?" she asked. He didn't seem to have it on his person. She wouldn't give him a new one if she didn't get the old one back.

"I haven't finished it yet." He paused. "I… wasn't speaking of a book."

"Er… What do you need then?" They'd never really discussed much besides their mutual taste in books.

"The students are leaving next week." She nodded. She loved teaching, but Merlin, was it nice to have a few solid weeks of peace and quiet. "I wanted to ask…" He stopped and looked down at his shoes. His adam's apple bobbed with a heavy swallow and he looked back up, his dark eyes boring into her. "Would you like to have dinner with me after they leave? I'll cook."

For a moment, she was too startled to say anything. Was he asking her for a date? "Are you asking me for a date?"

A bit of color came into his cheeks. She didn't think she'd ever seen him blush before. "Yes." The man looked like he was ready to spring to his feet and bolt any moment.

She smiled. "Yes, of course. Just let me know what day works for you."

He looked surprised. "Friday?"

"I'll be there."

He seemed to be avoiding her leading up to their date. He dropped in once on the Tuesday before to drop off her book and inform her that dinner would be at seven. He accepted her new recommendation with a nod of thanks.

Hermione brushed at the summer dress she'd donned for dinner, straightening it as she stood outside the door to his rooms. Steeling her nerves, she knocked. She heard his voice inviting her in, and she pushed open the door. The smell of cooking meat greeted her first. Her mouth started to water immediately. She followed her nose into the kitchen, looking around as she went. She'd never been in his rooms before. They were surprisingly light, considering that they were in the dungeons.

"It smells wonderful," she said in greeting.

He turned off the stove burner. "I hope you like porkchops."

She smiled and nodded. He served her meat onto a plate and handed it to her, gesturing to the beans and vegetables on the stove. She scooped what she wanted and moved to the table. His nerves were almost palpable, and she wondered when he had last done this. He offered her wine, which she accepted with thanks. The first bite was divine.

"You are an excellent cook," she informed him.

"Thank you." He took a sip of his wine. "I did much of the cooking growing up."

"I see." They fell into an awkward silence, the only sound that of silverware scraping against their plates. What kind of conversation was one supposed to have on a first date with a man who had taught you when you were a teen? "So, what did you think of the book?"

He made a face at his plate. "It was an interesting enough concept. Entirely implausible, though. Every ecosystem needs various niches in order to survive. It is impossible that every single living thing would be transformed into a carnivorous, killer being. It would be unsustainable."

"And again with the romance," Hermione agreed. "Come on, folks, you've known each other a day and a half. She isn't your soulmate. I was glad that she got eaten."

Severus chuckled. "As was I."

The conversation lagged off and on throughout the evening in spurts accented by the awkward silences. They ended the night at his front door. She finished off her glass of wine and handed it over to him. He leaned over to set it beside his own empty glass on the side table beside the couch.

"I'd like to do this again," he admitted. "I know it's been a bit awkward."

She smiled at him. "I would like that. I think it just takes practice."

He moved closer to her, reaching a hand for her waist. She wondered if he was doing what she thought he was doing. His other hand went to her cheek. He was definitely doing what she thought he was doing. Her heart rate picked up. He was leaning in now. Her eyes closed as his lips made contact with hers. It was a short kiss, but she enjoyed the feel of his warm lips on her own. She found herself wanting to do it again, to explore the feeling. Yes, they'd definitely have to do this again.

 **A/N: 'Puppeteer of the Dead' is a real book by the author Troy McCombs. I finished it last week. Pretty good. 'The Cobra Event' is a real book by Richard Preston, and it really is one of my all-time favorites. I highly recommend it.**


	27. Dreamboat

Dreamboat

DREEM-boht | noun

1: a highly attractive or desirable person

Hermione met Roger during her fourth semester at Cambridge. She was in the wizarding-only building practicing her wand technique for the advanced freezing charm she was learning in her extracurricular ice sculpting class. Really, she had laughed when she had seen the class listed, but she needed an extracurricular, she supposed, and what better than something froofy to lighten her semester? So she had been in the main common area of the building waving her wand at the glass of water in front of her, when Roger had appeared in her life.

"You're going to shatter the glass, you know." The accent was Australian, she guessed before the voice paused and Hermione turned to glare at its owner. The boy – closer to a man, now – was tall and blonde. His blue eyes sparkled as he stared down at her in her seat, and really, it was a long way down from where he was standing. "Well, that or you'll flood the room."

She looked away from him quickly, an embarrassing shade of color creeping onto her face, and huffed. "Alright, then, you do it. Do you even know what I was trying to do?"

The man pulled out a chair beside her and dropped into it. "Not a clue. Were you trying to shatter the glass? Because I think you were likely to succeed."

"I was _not_ going to shatter the glass," she sniffed. She wasn't entirely sure of what she was doing, to be honest. She might have shattered the glass.

"I'm Roger," the blonde laughed, holding out a hand to her.

"Hermione," she answered, taking the hand and shaking it before she could talk herself out of touching him. The guy was _fit_.

It wasn't until after their third date that she fully realized just how fit Roger was. While Hermione was no prude, she was certainly not the type to put out before society dictated that she should, which was date number three. Merlin, Jesus, Mary, and Asmodeus, the guy was _fit_. When his shirt came off, she nearly drooled on him. Literally drooled. The sex was amazing. It successfully kept her mind off _him_. The last man in her life before Roger – the one who had shredded her insides to pieces with a vicious focus on her heart. She didn't like to think about him if she could help it, and most days she kept busy enough to help it. They had been like fire and oil, but _Merlin_ , she had loved him.

Roger was a breath of fresh air. The sex was frequent and very satisfying. He was a considerate and passionate lover. He was double-majoring in experimental charms and physics, not an easy endeavor. They had long, stimulating conversation, during which his accent often melted her into a puddle at his feet. He made her laugh. He was wonderful to look at.

Three dates turned into twelve, which turned into twenty-seven. Before Hermione even noticed that the two were going steady, they were celebrating their first anniversary and beginning to think of life after graduation. Roger began to talk of marriage – marriage to _her_. He wanted to marry her and have a family with her and support her through an internship at St. Mungo's. Hermione resisted – at first. When she showed hesitance, he backed off, gave her space – everything she could have asked from him. He was quietly _there_ , supporting her.

She found the ring, predictably, in his sock drawer one morning while he was in the shower. The box was smooth black velvet, and she felt a strange draw to it. After glancing at the bathroom door, she popped open the box and stared at the ring inside. It was silver. A single square-cut diamond sat in the middle of the band. She was seized by a desire to see it on her hand. It fit perfectly – self-sizing, she assumed in the back of her mind.

"Normally the guy would propose first."

Hermione squeaked and whirled around, the ring box clattering to the floor. Roger was standing in the doorway between the bedroom and the loo, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. She swallowed and looked down at the ring again before returning her gaze to her boyfriend. Silently, she slipped the ring off her finger and handed it to him.

She bit her lip as he dropped to one knee. She could feel tears coming, and she tried to tell herself that they were happy tears only.

"This wasn't exactly how I'd planned to do this," he said, his voice cracking just a bit. He cleared his throat. "For starters, I thought I'd have clothes on." He grinned at her laugh. "Hermione, I adore you. I have from the moment I saw you shattering glass." Another laugh, this one turning watery.

She focused intently on the blonde in front of her, trying not to imagine what _he_ would have looked like on one knee inviting her to stay with him forever.

"I want to support you and to be supported by you. I want to laugh with you and experience _life_ with you. I want more than anything to be with you until we're old and gross. Will you marry me?" His baby blue eyes met hers through the tears. Her heart skipped a beat. Wordlessly, she nodded, throwing her arms around him – on one knee, the top of his head went straight into her boobs, which neither of them really minded.

The engagement announcement ran in The Prophet just two weeks later. She wondered if he saw it. She wondered if he cared. Probably not. She tried not to care whether he cared.

Wedding planning was a whirlwind. She thanked god that it was summer break, because just the thought of trying to get this all done during the semester made her want to burst into tears. She was walking through Diagon Alley toward the bakery to confirm the specifications of the cake for the wedding that was just a _month away_ – the though nearly sent her into hysterics at everything she still had left to do – when she saw him. Her feet, against her will, quit moving, stopping her cold in the middle of the street.

Despite the fact that it was _July_ for Christ's sake, he was clothed head to toe in his characteristic black, a cloak swirling around his shoulders. She noticed when his eyes landed on her, but they did not remain on her, instead skipping back to the front of him. He intended to walk past her without even acknowledging her. That son-of-a-bitch. He had _left_ her. The least he could do was acknowledge her on the street. She willed her feet to get going, crossing the street to interrupt his path.

He continued until he was bodily forced to stop, less than half a meter from her. "Granger, you are in my way," he snarled.

His tone set a fire in her that she was too disturbed to acknowledge. She focused on her anger. "Three years, and you aren't even going to admit that I exist when you see me on the street?"

He growled in annoyance. "Those three years are long over. I heard you have a new man to bother now." He paused only briefly. "I suppose I ought to congratulate you."

She tried desperately to find even a _hint_ of jealousy. _Anything_ besides irritation at having his path blocked and his day interrupted. She didn't find it. Not in his voice nor his face. "Thank you," she said stiffly. She noticed his gaze flick to her hand for just a moment. In that very brief moment, his eyes hardened only just so slightly. Had they not had the history that they had, she doubted that she would have seen it. A spark sprang to life in her chest. "Severus…" She bit her lip and stared into his eyes. He knew what she was going to say, she saw it. "Are you still-"

"Yes," he snapped. "I am still certain. Now if you will excuse me." He pushed past her and strode down the street, his steps jerky and agitated.

Hermione tried very hard not to cry in the street. She had to duck into an alleyway.

oOo

Yes, he was still very certain. She was all wrong for him, he had snarled at her on that last day. He could not put up with her any longer.

It was a lie, of course. She was an angel for the things that she did for him. He worshipped her. He was all wrong for her. She shouldn't have to put up with him any longer. He was setting her free, letting her go to find someone better for her. He wanted her to have better, to be treated better. She would never have left if he had told her so.

Roger Clements was better. Severus had done his research after the announcement had arrived in the paper. It had been a rough day. The paper arrived at breakfast, thankfully during the summer with no students around to see the way his face dropped and then hardened as he gained control of himself. He was certain that none of his colleagues had noticed. He'd attempted to finish his meal as usual but had been largely unsuccessful. After an acceptable amount of time, he excused himself and locked himself in his chambers. He disconnected the floo. He broke things, but none of the things that she had loved. He drank a lot of whisky, but not the kind that she had hated the taste of on his tongue. He allowed himself to experience the heartbreak all over again. He had done this, he reminded himself. If he hadn't made her leave, she might still be with him. It might be their announcement. He did this. For her.

After his day and night of wallowing in sorrow and self-pity, he dug up everything he could find on the boy that had replaced him. Half-blood from a nice, middle-class family. Educated at a small, private academy in Australia and sheltered from the war. The boy had never seen Hermione in battle, seen her covered in her own blood, and those of others. He'd likely never had nightmares of finding her dead in a forest. The boy was intelligent and studious. Severus could admit to feeling a pang of jealousy when he'd managed to get his hands on a picture of the boy – he was much more physically attractive than the older man had ever been. He was a better match for her.

Severus Snape _knew_ this. And yet, after his confrontation with her on the street, he wanted nothing more than to turn back around, march after her, and tell her how much he needed her. He wouldn't, of course, but his entire body _begged_ him to do it. He ignored it. He'd had a lifetime of practice. He would pretend that he didn't want her. He would allow her to marry the boy who was better for her than he could ever be.

He would let her go. He would be miserable – _again_ – so that she would be happy.

Because he loved her.


	28. Sudoriferous

Sudoriferous

soo-duh-RIF-er-uh-s | adjective

1: bearing or secreting sweat

Severus doubled over, hands on his knees, and gasped for breath. Merlin, he was out of shape. He couldn't have been running for more than ten minutes, but still he could hear _them_ behind him. Their voices mingled together so much that it was impossible to pick out single words, but just the sight of them had turned his skin to ice. He'd bolted before any of them could speak to him or get near. He certainly wouldn't be allowing any of them to touch him. He swiped his forearm over his face, wiping the sweat out of his eyes.

It was dark out, but that only highlighted the ominous glow from their bodies. Each was marred by the marks that had killed them. He recognized each and every one of them. He'd been the one to kill them, after all. Every person who had ever fallen by his wand or his knife or his poison was here, following not-so-slowly behind him. The fear churning in his gut was palpable. He glanced over his shoulder. The leader of the pack – a tall, dark-haired girl with a ripped shirt and blood smeared down her arms – was closing in. There were dark prints left behind on the sidewalk as she walked toward him. She was dead, how could she possibly be bleeding?

He ran again.

It was less time than the last before he had to stop again, unable to breathe. Looking behind him, a sob wrenched from his throat. He was no further from them than he had been when he'd begun to run. They were going to reach him. He walked backward, staring at their faces. He could see the man that he had murdered when he was seventeen to prove his loyalty to the Death Eaters walking in step with one of the last women he had been forced to rape at the end of the war. Just in front of them was the woman he had brewed poison for, for lying to the Dark Lord.

"Severussss."

The sing-song voice from behind him nearly stopped his heart. He whirled to face her, turning his back on the rest of them. There she was. There was blood on her temple. The deep gouge in her side was there. Thank Merlin her organs at least seemed to be in place this time. "No," he whispered. "No!" He took a step back from her glowing form. "I didn't kill you. I didn't!"

"You did," she disagreed. "You killed me, Severus."

He fell to his knees on the pavement as guilt and pain washed through him in waves. "No, I would never."

"I would never have been in that shack if not for you, Severus." She moved closer to him. "I died because of you. Because I saved you."

"I didn't…" The tears mingled with the sweat on his face, running in rivulets down his cheeks. "I didn't kill you, Hermione."

She smiled and repeated, "You killed me, Severus. I died because of you." She stepped closer.

"Please," he pleaded as she reached out a hand toward him. "Please, no. I accept their accusation. I killed them. Not you. Never you."

"I saved you, Severus, and you killed me." She touched his face.

He screamed as fire erupted in his veins. The others were on him now as he collapsed to the sidewalk, their hands reaching out to touch him. There were too many to crowd around him, and he sobbed at their number, his agony soaring with each new touch. Too many. Too many.

His eyes flew open and he stared around the dark room. His arm instinctively snaked forward, looking for her body in the bed. The sheets were cold. She was dead. He knew that now, his mind waking up and pushing the nightmare to the back of his mind. It was one he'd had many times before. The sheets beneath him were soaked with sweat, and he rolled out of bed. It was only three forty-seven in the morning, he saw, glancing at the clock on the nightstand, but he might as well begin his day. He wouldn't be getting any more sleep tonight. Ten years she had been gone, but still she haunted him. He thought maybe she always would.

A/N: I apologize for the feels twice in a row.


	29. Thigmotropism

Thigmotropism

thig-MO-truh-piz-uh-m | noun

1: oriented growth of an organism in response to mechanical contact, as a plant tendril coiling around a string support

 _She was so still_. The girl sat in the corner of her cell, back pressed into the damp stone wall. One leg was stretched in front of her. The other was clutched against her chest, her arms wrapped around it, her face pressed against her knee. It was too dark to see the blood or the bruises, but he knew that they were there. Having been graciously invited to each of her torture sessions, he knew where each bruise, where each slice in her skin lay. He didn't need to see her to visualize the blood smeared and dried across her skin.

Silently, he crossed the dungeon to her cell. A whispered spell opened the lock and he slipped inside. She didn't move or acknowledge him, though she must have heard the hinges creaking as the door opened and closed behind him. Jesus, she hadn't died, had she?

"Miss Granger," he called quietly, moving across the floor to crouch beside her. She twitched only slightly at the sound of his voice. "The Order is on its way, Miss Granger." That seemed to get her attention better. He saw her arms tighten around herself, but she still did not look up at him. "I'm afraid that I am unable to pass along a wand, but I will leave your cell unlocked. The moment that you hear the commotion upstairs, you are to run. Do you understand?"

Slowly, her head rose, and his insides squirmed at the swollen, bloody mess of her face. Without conscious direction, his hand rose to touch the side of her cheek. She flinched, but he shushed her, sending a tendril of magic into his hand. Her swelling faded, though the skin was still mottled with angry bruises. She met his eyes as he dropped his hand to his side. The amount of fire still in them surprised him.

"I can't run," she said, her voice low and raspy. Her throat must be raw from the screaming.

He stared back at her, running through what he had seen them do to her. While her injuries were not to be taken lightly, he did not recall anything that would prevent her escape. She had been crucioed, sliced open, and physically beaten, but not in a way that would preclude such movement.

"You must."

She shook her head slowly, her eyes squinting shut and one hand rising half the distance to her head before she thought better of it. "I can't. My ankle is broken. That foot was sliced to ribbons." She paused, opening her eyes again to look him in the eyes. "I believe I've also got a concussion, but I could work around that."

"When did this happen?" There must have been a session that he'd not been notified of. He cursed inwardly. He had been charged with at least keeping an eye on the girl, though Minerva was well aware that he was unable to stop anything that was happening to her.

The girl shrugged. "Yesterday? Last week? A few hours ago? I've no idea. Time moves strangely here."

He sighed, extracting his wand from his coat pocket. He'd have to try to heal the ankle and foot if she was to make her escape. "I am not a healer, you understand. I'll do the best I can," he assured her, "but Poppy may have to fix my work when you're out." He turned his attention to the leg that was stretched in front of her. He ignored the dark splotches dried onto her jeans and instead turned his attention to the slices covering her foot. She wasn't wrong – the foot was hamburger. He kept his face neutral as he worked to heal as much as he could. When he came to the swollen mess of her ankle, he paused. "I am unfamiliar with the healing of bone breaks," he admitted. "I am concerned with healing it the wrong way and Poppy being forced to re-break the bone."

"Just do it," she told him weakly. "If she has to re-break it, it will be less painful than having it broken the first time." Her jaw clenched at the memory.

"What happened?" he asked, turning his attention back to the ankle.

"Dolohov," she ground out. He was poking at the injury and he could tell that it was painful. "He snuck down here when no one else was around. Had some fun on his own."

His whispered spell resulted in an audible _crack_. Her scream of pain was stifled quickly, turning into harsh pants against the hand that he had pressed over her mouth. He turned to stare intently at the stairwell, listening for the sound of feet coming to check on the noise. One of her hands touched the back of his, not attempting to remove it, but covering it. He glanced at her. Her eyes were closed, and her head was reclined back against the stone wall. Her nostrils flared with each breath. After a few moments of silence, he relaxed, removing his hand from her lips. It didn't seem that anyone was concerned with screams from the dungeon.

"Miss Granger, is there anything else that you need me to heal urgently before your escape?" He was well aware of Antonin Dolohov's particular brand of violence. If she had a concussion, it was likely from being thrown down onto the stone floor with a particular purpose in mind. She searched his eyes. He wasn't sure what she found there, but a shaky breath left her.

"He raped me," she told him in a small voice. He nodded, sickened, but unsurprised. "I'm alright, though. It… can wait."

He nodded again. "Did he use a contraceptive spell of any kind, Miss Granger?"

She shook her head. He immediately brought his wand to her belly and cast the strongest contraceptive that he knew of. She didn't know how long ago it had happened. If conception had already occurred, it would do nothing to abort the pregnancy, but it may yet be in time to prevent such a horror.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He nodded. "When you hear the fighting, _run_. Do not walk." He moved to leave her but was surprised when she reached out to clutch his hand. Her eyes held a touch of panic as she looked at him. He sighed. "You will be fine, Miss Granger. I will be watching out for you as you make your escape."

She bit her lip, nodding slowly. "Thank you," she repeated again.

He left the cell unlocked, as promised, and left the dungeon without a backward glance.

oOo

The Dark Lord had _not_ been pleased with the escape of their prized prisoner. He had _not_ been pleased with Severus for his apparent lack of knowledge on the Order's planned raid. As soon as he was able, Severus snuck from the Manor and apparated to the Order's headquarters at Grimmauld Place. He swayed when he landed on the front steps and clutched the hand rail to steady himself. He didn't know whether Poppy had finished tending to Miss Granger, but he would gladly wait in an infirmary bed until she had.

His first step over the threshold was greeted by the girl's scream – a sound which he knew unfortunately well by this time – so he supposed that Poppy had not yet finished. Was that the re-breaking of the girl's ankle? Likely. He made his way unsteadily toward the sound, using the wall for support. No one he passed in the hall said a word to him or offered him assistance and he ground his teeth. Bloody ungrateful is what they were. Thankfully, the makeshift infirmary was on the ground floor of the old house.

He finally arrived at the door of what was formerly the library and pushed it open with his shoulder. He was so focused on keeping his balance as he crossed the open floor with slow, careful steps to an empty bed a few down from where Miss Granger was occupying one of her own, that he didn't notice their sudden silence. He lowered himself onto the white sheets with a low groan. From where he perched on the side of the bed, he could see the two women watching him. He was aware of the mess he looked. He looked down at where his hands were pressed against the sheets. There was a dull brown smear from them. He wondered suddenly if he'd left handprints on the walls.

He waved a bloody hand at the mediwitch. "I will live until you are finished, Poppy. Tend to Miss Granger first."

"I would like to take a break," declared the stubborn girl. "You've just broken and healed my ankle. I need a few moments."

Severus rolled his eyes but began to strip out of his outer garments as Poppy strode toward him. When he came to his button-down shirt, which most assuredly was no longer white, he paused, glancing toward Miss Granger uneasily. She had the good grace to look away from him. She clasped her hands in her lap and stared down at them instead. He undid his buttons quickly and clenched his jaw as he peeled the fabric from his broken skin.

Poppy went to work on him and he eyed the girl across the room. Every so often, she glanced at him, caught him watching her, and blushed, looking away again. There was still blood all over her skin, but the cuts that they belonged to seemed to be healed. The swelling of her ankle was rapidly decreasing as her body realized that it was no longer broken.

"Was I in time with the contraceptive?" he asked, his voice loud in the quiet room.

The girl flinched. He felt Poppy's hand clutch his shoulder, where it had been resting.

"Contra-" She looked sharply to Hermione. "Now _that_ should have been mentioned, Miss Granger."

She nodded. "I was getting to it. Professor Snape did the important part."

He grunted impatiently. " _Maybe_ I did the important part. I may have been too late."

"In which case, there would be nothing that Madam Pomfrey could do," she said firmly. "I wouldn't kill a baby just for the crime of being his."

"Hermione," the older woman said gently, abandoning Severus, "he might have hurt you. I'll need to perform an exam."

Severus waved his wand over his shirt, cleaning the blood from it as best he could, and buttoned it swiftly. Standing stiffly, he turned to go.

"Please stay," the girl called, a note of panic in her voice.

He turned his head to look at her and saw genuine fear in her eyes. He looked to Poppy next, who shrugged her shoulders and nodded. Slowly, he moved to her side of the room and pulled a chair up beside her bed. He dropped his battered body into it.

"Why?" He would stay, but he was curious why she had asked him to.

She blushed and blinked at the tears in her eyes. "You saved me. I… feel safer with you here."

Poppy pulled a curtain around the bed and held out a white sheet. Shivering, Hermione pulled one end up around her chest while the mediwitch adjusted stirrups at the end of the bed. The girl held it together right up until the moment that Poppy prodded her most intimate of places with her wand. She gasped and threw one hand desperately toward Severus, who grabbed hold of it purely by instinct. He kept holding it tightly until Poppy was finished repairing the damage that Dolohov had indeed done to her and withdrew.

It was a great relief when the mediwitch announced that Hermione was not pregnant. Thank Merlin that wasn't a bridge the girl would have to cross. Severus had no doubt that she would stick to her word and refuse to abort the child of her rapist. After her pelvic exam, Severus quickly extricated himself from her grasp and left the room, hoping not to see her again for several days at least.

So it was with great confusion and exasperation that he found her outside his temporary bedroom at headquarters that night.

"I couldn't sleep," she admitted.

He moved aside to allow her into the room. "I am not going to cuddle you all better," he growled.

A small smile crossed her face. "Of course not. You're the greatest git to walk London in a thousand years."

He nodded once. "As long as you are aware." He paused, watching her fidget. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt and grey pajama bottoms that had seen better days. She seemed to be bearing weight well on her previously broken ankle. "Why have you attached to me? I was there for your torture. You had to have seen me. You cannot possibly associate me with good things, Miss Granger."

She shrugged, looking down at her feet, which he noticed were bare. The big toenail of her left foot was black. It would likely fall off. "You saved me," she repeated. "You healed me. It was the first touch that didn't hurt me in more than a week. I think I might have been a bit delirious when you came to me this morning."

Merlin, had that only been this morning? He sighed. He certainly knew of the tricks the mind could play when one was exhausted, terrified, and in pain. He supposed that to her, he must have been an angel who swooped in to carry her away to safety. "You should forget about that and go back to your room."

She nodded. "I just wanted to say thank you. You saved my life."

He shook his head. "I was following orders. The Order, the people who conducted a raid on the known residence of the Dark Lord, saved your life. I merely allowed for you to take advantage of the distraction."

She stepped toward him. "You were punished because of my escape."

"I was punished because the Dark Lord is a psychopath who enjoys violence."

"Still," she insisted, "thank you." She reached him and wrapped her arms around his back, pressing her face against his chest.

He didn't know what to do with his hands. Was he expected to hug her back? Before he could decide how to react, she was moving away from him.

"Good night," she said softly. The door clicked shut behind her.

He stared at the door, puzzled. He felt no attraction to the girl, but he did feel oddly protective of her. Perhaps, he thought hesitantly, he had gained a friend today.

A/N: This is obviously not also today's word, but it was driving me nuts just sitting partially complete in the folder. Therefore, a very happy un-birthday (or maybe birthday if you're really lucky) to all of you.


	30. Aspersion

Aspersion

uh-SPUR-zhuhn | noun

1: a damaging or derogatory remark or criticism; slander

He truly hadn't meant to get involved with her. She'd seemed almost single-minded in her determination to get at him. In the beginning he had deflected her, put her off, sometimes physically removing her from his presence. He'd gone to Albus to report her preposterous behavior, hoping that the headmaster would be able to, at the least, offer some advice, at best, to forbid the girl from seeking him out. On the contrary, the old man had smiled jovially and informed him that there were no rules on the books preventing a relationship with a student of age, so long as no favoritism took place. If he felt that he was being harassed, the headmaster would be happy to step in on his behalf. It had not been what he'd been hoping to hear. He did not feel that he was being harassed. On the contrary, he felt that he was being seduced, and he was hard-pressed to find it in him to be unhappy about it, aside from losing his job and being thrown from the castle, which was apparently not an issue. He'd been off-kilter when he'd stalked back toward his classroom.

She'd joined him less than halfway, of course.

"Professor," she greeted brightly, smiling up at him.

He gave an exasperated growl, his stride purposely not changing as she fell into step beside him. "What is _wrong_ with you, Granger?"

She shrugged. "I know what I want."

"Why would you want me of all people?" He wasn't fishing for compliments, he was genuinely bewildered. He was nineteen years older, unattractive, and universally hated. What could she possibly see in him? Her hand on his arm pulled him up short and his gaze jerked down to her face. While her eyes were deadly serious, he couldn't help but notice the warmth in them. He nodded toward an empty classroom ahead. Her hand dropped from his arm as he stepped away from her toward it. When the door was shut and warded, he looked back to her.

"I am not a member of the Order of the Phoenix." He blinked, his brow furrowing. It was an unexpected opening line. "But neither am I uninformed, sir. You are an incredibly brave man. You shoulder burdens that the rest of us cannot possibly imagine. You deserve to have someone believe in you, to help you carry those burdens. I would like to help you."

He was silent a moment, his eyes narrowing at the young woman in front of him. She stood still, her hands clasped in front of her as she awaited his response. "You wish to bolster me to improve the war effort." His voice was flat, dead.

She frowned. "I wish to support you as a person. If it happens to help with the war, bully." She let out a frustrated sigh, her composure fracturing. One hand went to her wild curls, twisting into them and shaking them out. He swallowed at the sight. "You are a highly intelligent individual. I find your honesty to be stimulating. Your humor, when you show it, is refreshing. I do realize that I don't know you all that well, but I want to. I would like to know you."

He sighed. "I have just been complaining to the headmaster about you."

She smirked. "And what did the dear professor have to say?"

Curse her, she knew fully well that what she was trying to do was allowed. No doubt she'd looked it up before attempting to pursue him. "I am to receive no help from him in dissuading you," he drawled.

Her smirk widened. "Does that mean you'll stop trying to?"

His eyes rolled up to the ceiling. "I will not encourage you."

She stepped toward him. "But you won't discourage me?"

He eyed her advancing on him and shook his head once. It was more of a jerk, really. He was busy watching to see what she would do. When she was within easy reach, she raised one arm and rested the flat of her palm against his chest, chuckling when he flinched. She stayed there for a moment, looking up into his blank face, before moving closer. Her forehead dropped beside her hand against him.

"Don't worry," she murmured against the layers of fabric there, "I won't push you. This is as far as I'll go unless you ask me for more."

He breathed a sigh of relief. He could handle this much. And he wouldn't ask for more.

She'd taken to showing up during his nightly patrols and, as she was Head Girl, he could hardly bark at her and order her back to bed. He'd sighed and accepted that this was the way of things now. She was to be his patrolling partner. As they stalked through the corridors, she talked to him. It was mostly one-sided for the first few nights. He'd been irritated that she had caused him to miss out on catching students out of bed with her chatter. They'd heard them coming. She wore him down. He began to talk back. He answered when she asked questions. They were hardly lengthy, but they were responses. Slowly, she'd moved to teasing and he had been surprised when he had teased back. He caught himself smiling at her once or twice, for which he had been rewarded with beaming smiles from her. They'd made his heart beat faster.

Fuck it all if he hadn't wanted her head on his chest again then.

He wasn't a blind man. He was well aware that she had a pretty face. She was petite, but he liked them so. He'd always had an image of a woman tucked beneath his chin. She would certainly fit there. So help him, his arms itched to wrap around her back while she was pressed against him. He couldn't ask her.

"What are your plans for Christmas?"

He grunted noncommittally. "I'll likely stay in my quarters alone with a glass of Ogden's finest."

She snorted. "That is a terrible way to spend Christmas. Any chance you'll let me spend it with you and my own glass?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Surely you have better things to do."

"My parents are still in Australia."

"Will Potter and Weasley not want you with them?" He would, frankly, very much enjoy the sight of her in his quarters. He was not unaware of the opportunity that she was presenting to him to change his mind gracefully.

She shrugged. "I'm sure, but I'd rather be with you."

He frowned. "You should not neglect your friendships on my behalf."

Eyes were rolled. "The boys will survive Christmas without me."

"As will I." He really didn't know why he was arguing. He did want her with him.

"Do you want me over for Christmas or not?" She put one hand on her hip and stopped walking, cocking her head at him.

He nodded mutely.

"Alright then."

He wouldn't have admitted to a soul the amount of cleaning he'd done the week before Christmas holidays. Knowing that she would be there in his quarters within a few days simultaneously made his heart race and his stomach drop out. He ensured that he had his best books arranged where she could see them, as he knew that was something that she would enjoy. He hadn't quite expected her to knock within hours of the Hogwarts Express departing.

"How did you even know where my quarters are?" he asked blankly, staring down at her in his doorway.

She blushed. "I've read Hogwarts: A History enough times to know where the Slytherin Head rooms are located."

He stepped aside, allowing her into his living room. "Is that in there?"

Nodding, she confirmed, "In the extended edition, yes."

"Well shit," he muttered. He supposed not many students would have read that, but still. How many of the little shits knew where he lived?

She looked around the room curiously. "Thank you for allowing me in."

"It would have been rude of me to bar your entrance after you stayed behind," he said dryly. His tone wasn't all that was dry. His mouth was parched at the sight of her here. She was in his living room.

"It's true," she answered. "I did stay behind just for you." She turned to him and smiled. He was surprised to see a trace of uncertainty in her eyes. "So, are you still not encouraging me?"

How exactly was he supposed to answer that? The truth, maybe. "Your… age makes me a bit apprehensive." He wasn't sure how exactly she managed both droop and perk up at the same time, but she did.

"I doubt it helps much, but I did add more than a year from my use of the time turner in third year. I repeated most days two or three times, some more often than that, sometimes just to catch up on sleep. I'm about twenty? Give or take." She didn't sound entirely certain.

"It helps a bit." It made him feel just a little less lecherous.

"Is… that something you could overlook?"

He gazed mutely at her for a moment, taking her in. She had a magnificent mind. Sharp, inquisitive. Her physical appearance was pleasing to him. She had managed to make him laugh a time or two, which was unheard of for Severus Snape. She wanted him. "Yes."

A relieved smile broke out across her face and she laughed softly at her feet. "I didn't think you'd actually say yes."

Against his will, his feet took a step toward her. "I… am asking for more." His voice was so low he didn't know if she had heard him. When she didn't answer for a moment, he swallowed, clearing his throat, and turned away to fetch some glasses. He had promised her a glass of whisky, after all. He didn't make it two steps before her hand on his back had him whirling around.

She was in front of him, right in front of him, close enough to pull against him, so he did. Tentatively, he wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her close to his body, feeling the warmth from her against him. Her head tucked perfectly beneath his chin and he let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. When her arms went around him too, a small smile crossed his face.

That first visit had been a bit awkward for him. The conversation seemed just a bit more significant, the banter just a bit more meaningful, now that she knew that he was interested in more than just her friendship. She hadn't pushed him, sitting nearby but not right against him, for which he was both saddened and grateful. She hadn't commented on his refusal to initiate anything beyond his embrace of her. If he was honest, he still wasn't completely all in on this yet and he didn't want to move too quickly. He had wanted her closer, and it unsettled him. When she had left him in the evening to return to her own Head rooms, he had missed her presence in his living room. He hadn't given her a tour, he realized. He'd just been surprised to see her so quickly. Predictably, she was back the next day after breakfast.

"What did you tell your little followers?"

"I told them I was staying behind for a boy," she said with a laugh.

He flinched slightly at the word 'boy.' He hardly counted as such, though it was probably what she should have. "Did they not ask?"

She pushed at him with one bare foot. They were sprawled across his couch, each turned sideways to better face each other. "Of course they did, but I didn't know if you were going to wise up. Anyway, I wouldn't dream of telling anyone about this without your permission. You have much stricter privacy standards than I do. I told them to stuff it."

He nodded gratefully. He still wasn't entirely sure that this was a good idea. The last thing he wanted was her friends screeching in protest before they themselves had made up their minds. No doubt they were at the Burrow pairing her up with every seventh year in the school, trying to decide who it could be. He doubted he'd even be mentioned as a possibility.

He was startled from his thoughts when he felt her move toward him. She tucked herself against his side, one of her legs slinging over both of his. He moved one arm to go around her. His breath caught as he looked down at her and realized just how close her face was. She smiled up at him, suddenly shy. He took a deep, determined breath and went for it. Her eyes closed as he moved in, he noticed. Then his lips met hers and his eyes closed, too. Her body melted against him. She was soft and warm. He kept the kiss short and chaste, though he what he wanted was to push her down onto the sofa and kiss every inch of her. She tasted divine. Her eyes took a moment to open after he pulled away and he worried that he'd gone too fast.

He needn't have worried. Her chocolate eyes glittered when she looked up at him, asking him for more. He offered her a small smile and she reciprocated. Then she took matters into her own hands, moving around him to sit on his lap, straddling him in a way that was entirely inappropriate. He swallowed hard but made no move to extricate her. Any thought of removing her from his person evaporated when her lips returned to his. This kiss was much more insistent, her lips urgent. He groaned when she discovered the erection he was sporting below her and did remove her then, putting her back onto the couch beside him.

"No," he insisted. "That _is_ moving too fast." His body wanted to throttle him for the comment, but he was a grown man capable of self-restraint.

"Yes, it is," she agreed. "I just wanted to test the boundaries."

He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. Merlin, help him.

Christmas holidays passed much too quickly for his liking. She'd spent more than an hour with him every day of the break, most days much more than that. He'd found his uncertainty quickly withering and dying under the weight of her smiles and her kisses. They hadn't gone any further than making out like fifth years on the couch, but he was certain that they would. They just needed a bit more time first.

It was the best Christmas he'd spent since his own time in Hogwarts.

"-bet he fucks Death Eaters in those dungeons." There was bawdy laughter, and Hermione felt her blood begin to boil. " _Oh, yeah, do me harder, you great bat, you_."

She rounded the corner and zeroed in on the group in question. "Fifty points from Ravenclaw," she hissed. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Malfoy watching her interestedly.

Most of the group had the grace to look embarrassed. One sixth year, whose name she honestly was not aware of, puffed himself up in indignation. "For what?"

"Disrespect." She forced herself to take a deep breath and release her death grip on her wand. Much as she wanted to wipe that look off the kid's face, she was the head girl. She had an example to set.

"Oh, come on, it was just _Snape_ ," the boy whined.

Her eyes narrowed. "Professor Snape, ten points more. And he deserves your respect, whether you think so or not. He is a teacher at this institution. Should I go and inform him of your opinion?"

The boy paled and shook his head.

"I thought not," she said shortly. "Get to class."

The group scattered, and she was left alone in the hall with Malfoy.

"That's quite the crush you've got there, Granger," he drawled. "Should I go and inform him of your opinion?"

She turned on him. "You go right ahead."

He looked taken aback but didn't say anything more, instead watching her as she stalked away from him.


	31. Johnsonese

Johnsonese

jon-suh-NEEZ | noun

1: a literary style characterized by rhetorically balanced, often pompous phraseology and an excessively Latinate vocabulary: so called from the style of writing practiced by Samuel Johnson

The wildwood was scrutinizing her every movement. She felt the chill of their gazes upon her sun-kissed skin – a chromism which was attained through incalculable hours beneath the harsh, angry touch of the crimson life-giver in the sky – and yet, uncaring of how quickly she whirled beneath the canopy, she was unable to lay eyes upon the possessor of the gaze which had her chilled to her very bones. A breeze rustled through the leaves, nudging them rudely against their compatriots, whilst the branches themselves leaned as far as their bindings would allow, creaking ominously into the supposedly empty darkness.

"Who goes there?" she called out into the wood. The utterance returned an utterly bizarre echo, completely at odds with her expectations of how a forest should sound. They were perfectly reasonable expectations, she felt, having spent a respectable amount of time cavorting among the trees surrounding her childhood home in Hampstead. Hampstead was a pulchritudinous village, its hills and historic sites having set her on her path toward her lifelong passion for history and the natural world. As such, she felt that she was amply qualified to judge how a shout should sound in a wood. This echo, in particular was more reminiscent of a cave – a vast, empty cavern adorned by the slight, furry bodies of bats within. But how could that be? She clearly occupied a wood just as any other. She reached out her hand, her fingertips brushing the tree before her. The tree was, indeed, sturdy, but the texture apperceived was not what she conjectured that it would be. Rather, the surface beneath her digits was springy. Her hand sunk into the tree, nearly imperceptibly had she not been concentrating fully upon it, though when the appendage was removed from the trunk, a shallow imprint was left behind in what she supposed she should call wood, for lack of a better agnomen. Her delicate brow furrowed, her bewilderment evident to any who should happen upon her. What in heaven's name…?

To her left, a shadow moved in the blackness. She pirouetted toward the aberration, her eyes investigating her surroundings with abandon. "Show yourself," she demanded of the shade, her voice taking on a guttural quality wholly foreign to her. She could not detect it, but she discerned its presence by the chills which were left upon her skin by its gaze.

"Certainly." The voice of the shadow was a deep baritone, one which struck chords of familiarity within her. It had materialized from behind her. She whirled on the heel of her foot, ignoring the twinge of pain left over from an accident involving a horse and a mailbox in the carefree days of her childhood (It really was quite a good story. You see, she had been out and about in the delightful hills of Hampstead upon her aged pony, Martha, minding her business quite well, having thoroughly mastered the techniques of the equestrian, she believed, when a motorbike of considerable volume whirled past, alarming the placid pony. Martha had leaped back, catching Hermione unprepared, and dispatching her quickly forward over the withers of the pony. Lamentably, a poorly placed mailbox had interrupted her fall, awarding her not only a glamorous bruise upon her cheekbone and adorning her left eye, but also a viciously twisted ankle. Having lived nowhere near that particular location and poor, frightened Martha having bolted, she had been left to rest upon the lawn of the mailbox's owner until such a time as a benevolent civilian offered assistance. Martha, incidentally, was recovered later with quite a bit of difficulty and a bumblebee (It's an utterly remarkable tale. When Mr. Howard Granger did manage to locate the pony, Martha, she was grazing cheerfully upon the lawn of an aged woman who had no desire to find the pony upon her property. Mr. Granger – Dr. Granger if one were lucky enough to have attained the man as his dentist. Really, he was quite good at his job. Exceptional, some might argue – endeavored to draw the attention of the rather plump grey mare with a carrot. The pony, for her part, eyed the treat with extreme disinterest and resumed rending the lush green grass out by the roots. Having brought no other enticement, Mr. Granger was quite at a loss until a cooperative bumblebee elected to land upon Martha's snout. Finding the snout to be displeasing to its entomological sensitivities, the bee promptly stung the poor pony, who bolted, incidentally straight for Mr. Granger. The fortunate man was able to snatch the reins as the pony ran by.).), her eyes searching through the darkness.

"Professor?"

"Up here, Miss Granger," he drawled.

Her gaze was drawn upward as she was instructed and at last rested upon his form. He was perched carelessly upon a branch of what she supposed must be a tree, five meters from the ground. Her measurement was perhaps erroneous, but by happy chance there was no other soul excepting the one in question resting upon an incorrect tree branch who could pass judgement upon her. Her shade rested his back against the trunk, conveying the impression of being perfectly at ease. One leg was drawn out before him across the branch while its companion dangled from the side, oscillating through the empty air below. A smirk rested comfortably upon his visage at the sight of her scarcely concealed stupefaction. Observing his posture there above the forest floor, she was taken by how distinctly feline he appeared.

"What are you doing up there?"

"What are you doing down there?" he countered fluidly. Mischief flickered through his normally dark eyes, which, were Hermione not misguided, held a token of a green shine gleaming in the darkness.

She pursed her lips severely, her temper overpowering her intuitive capacity for composure. "Now, really. What is going on?" She waved her hand at the forest at large, indicating the trees with their outlandish texture. Really, she could not emphasize quite enough to satisfy her insecurity how wrong they were. "Where am-" Her gaze returned to the tree, which she found suddenly, exasperatingly to be quite bare of his person. "-I?"

"Where do you think you are?" his voice erupted from behind her. She performed a marvelous capriole at the sensation of his warm breath upon the skin at the back of her neck. From behind her, his arms came around her body, wrapping her stably within their embrace even as they retracted her toward him, cradling her back against his chest and causing her eyes to widen at the sheer unexpectedness of the action.

"I – I'm sure I really don't know," she said breathlessly, her breath having left her behind the very moment that he touched her. "Clearly not anywhere sane."

He huffed a muted laugh into the shell of her ear, and she discerned a rumbling in his chest which she would vow under oath was purring if she were less highly educated than she was. Alas, she was, indeed, a highly educated woman and was cognizant of the fact that men did not purr. "And why not?" he inquired, laughter evident in his succulent voice.

"Well," she started. She was completely unable to prevent the falling open of her mouth in astonishment at the feel of his _tongue_ swiping over her neck. Her knees went weak, and she doubtlessly would have swooned, likely crumbling to the forest floor, had it not been for the strength of his arms still cocooning her. "Well, for one, that. You're Professor Snape… and yet you obviously aren't."

"Am I not?" he rumbled, burying his face into the crook of her neck.

"No," she whispered.

"What else?" he murmured against her velvety skin.

"The trees…" Her focus was wandering from the point at hand, specifically the strangeness of the forest in which she had found herself, converging instead on his face, the short bristles rubbing abrasively against her skin indicating a need to shave, a ritual in which she herself was more than content not to have to partake. Her throat quivered as she swallowed. "The trees aren't right."

He licked her skin once more, leaving a trail of horripilation in the wake of his tongue, and the warmth which had exuded from his person vanished from behind her at the very same moment as his arms evaporated from around her. Madly, she whirled, searching her environs for any sign of the shade. Her eyes settled upon his teeth before she sighted the rest of him, his wide-mouthed, uncharacteristically Snape grin exposing them to the lackluster lighting of the lunar orb in the heavens above. He stood beside a tree to her right, one of his large, masculine hands resting on its trunk.

"Are you sure you aren't thinking of the wrong trees?" he inquired lightly as he strolled casually up the trunk.

She goggled, her mouth hanging open in a manner entirely unbecoming of a lady, more apt for a common trout, yet she found herself unable to muster dismay at her display as he walked up the tree, his body parallel with the ground, as though he defied the laws of gravity, of the universe, of _god_ every day. "I must be mad," she muttered to no one else but her own self.

He stretched out onto a low branch on his stomach, lengthening his body to its full extent. His head hung down in an angle that looked truly disagreeable on the vertebrae while his feet twirled in the air above him. "My dear Miss Granger," he called down, and in this moment, she could _hear_ the purr, "we're all mad here."

She bolted upright in her bed, nearly thwacking her head upon the bunk above her and putting herself in danger of becoming concussed. Her breath was gasping and unsteady, and she stared wildly around herself. Ginny's chamber. The Burrow. Christmas holidays, of course. She drooped, allowing her weary body to recline on the mattress. Merely a dream, a mirage, a fantasy produced by her own mind. She sighed and vowed never to look Professor Snape directly in the eye again.

Many kilometers off, Severus Snape, the professor, the man, the mystery, was brewing a pot of tea, a tranquilizer for the mind of many a good Brit, and making a fruitless endeavor to forget the dream from which he had only just awaken. Just a dream it may have been, but Merlin, her skin had tasted divine.

A/N: I will admit to having laughed when I saw today's word. I do hope that you enjoyed the spin on Willowwacks.


End file.
